ProjectingPolitics2ndEdition.pdf

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The new edition of this infl uential work revises, updates, and expands the scope of the origi-nal and includes more sustained analyses of individual fi lms, from The Birth of a Nation to The Wolf of Wall Street. An interdisciplinary exploration of the relationship between Ameri-can politics and popular fi lm, Projecting Politics offers original approaches to determining the political contours of fi lms and to connecting cinematic language to political messaging. A new chapter covering 2000 to 2013 updates the decade-by-decade look at the Washington–Hollywood nexus, with special areas of focus including the post-9/11 increase in overtly political fi lms and the tension between the rise of political war fi lms like Green Zone and fi lms tightly constructed around the experience of U.S. troops like The Hurt Locker. The new edition also considers recent developments such as the Citizens United Supreme Court decision, the Smith-Mundt Modernization Act, the political dispute over Zero Dark Thirty, newer generation actor-activists, and the effects of shifting industrial fi nancing structures on political content. A new chapter addresses the resurgence of the disaster-apocalyptic fi lm, while updated chapters on nonfi ction fi lm, the politics of race, and gender in political fi lms round out this expansive, timely new work.

A recipient of a Woodrow Wilson Fellowship in the Humanities, Elizabeth Haas has pub-lished in numerous journals and teaches fi lm studies at the University of Bridgeport in Connecticut.

The author of many books including Local Politics: Governing at the Grassroots, Terry Christensen is professor emeritus in the political science department at San Jose State Uni-versity in California.

Peter J. Haas, recipient of a Fulbright Foundation Senior Specialist grant, is education director for the Mineta Transportation Institute and teaches political science at San Jose State University.

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This edition published 2015 by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017

and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

The right of Elizabeth Haas, Terry Christensen, and Peter J. Haas to be identifi ed as authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

Trademark notice : Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identifi cation and explanation without intent to infringe.

First edition published 2005 by M. E. Sharpe

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Christensen, Terry. Projecting politics : political messages in American fi lms / Elizabeth Haas, Peter J. Haas, and Terry Christensen.—Second edition p. cm. Revised edition of: Projecting politics: political messages in American fi lm / Terry Christensen and Peter J. Haas. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Motion pictures—Political aspects—United States. 2. Politics in motion pictures. 3. United States—Politics and government—20th century. 4. United States—Politics and government—21st century. I. Haas, Elizabeth, 1964– II. Haas, Peter J. III. Title. PN1995.9.P6C47 2014 791.43′658—dc23 2014025319

ISBN: 978-0-7656-3596-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-7656-3597-6 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-72079-1 (ebk)

Typeset in Times New Roman by Apex CoVantage, LLCD

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Preface vii Acknowledgments xi

I. Studying Political Films

1. Setting the Scene: A Theory of Film and Politics 3 2. The Making of a Message: Film Production and

Techniques, and Political Messages 25 3. Causes and Special Effects: The Political Environment of Film 61

II. Political Films by Decade

4. Politics in the Silent Movies 95 5. The 1930s: Political Movies and the Great Depression 105 6. The 1940s: Hollywood Goes to War 121 7. The 1950s: Anti-Communism and Conformity 137 8. The 1960s: From Mainstream to Counterculture 153 9. The 1970s: Cynicism, Paranoia, War, and Anticapitalism 169 10. The 1980s: New Patriotism, Old Reds, and a Return to Vietnam in

the Age of Reagan 193 11. The 1990s: FX Politics 217 12. The Twenty-First Century: 9/11 and Beyond 237

III. Political Films by Topic

13. True Lies? The Rise of Political Documentaries 269 14. Film and the Politics of Race: The Minority Report 291 15. Women, Politics, and Film: All About Eve? 313 16. White House Down? Politics in Disaster 343

Contents

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CONTENTS

Appendix

Closing Credits: A Political Filmography 371

Index 393 About the Authors 409

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Interest in the relationship between American politics and fi lm appears to be on the rise. Explicitly political fi lms from the biting documentary about the George W. Bush adminis-tration’s “war on terror” Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004) to the historical White House drama The Butler (2013) are fi lling theaters and collecting awards—2012 was even dubbed the year of the political fi lm. Within that trend fi lms with expressly activist discourses also appear ascendant. The rightwing documentary America: Imagine the World Without Her (2014) urges viewers to “stop” the Obama White House, while the DVD release date of the eco-logically themed sci-fi fantasy Avatar (2009) was timed with Earth Day 2010 to support an international reforestation campaign. Yet a review of the academic literature on political fi lm as well as the content of the many books dedicated to the subject reveals disagreement, if not confusion, about what exactly constitutes a political fi lm and why.

All fi lm genres are historical in nature and derive from the repetition of certain fi lm ele-ments, including character types, plot patterns, setting, and iconography. These repeated elements establish a framework recognizable to and shaped by fi lmmakers and audiences alike. Yet political scientists and fi lm scholars seem to agree only on the complexity and diffi culty of assigning to political fi lms any single set of identifying features or genre con-ventions. Researchers into this area will instead encounter a bewildering array of critical and analytic approaches. This book aims to provide a coherent overview of the subject and intro-duces a methodology useful to any researcher of the topic for considering any fi lm’s political value. The second edition revises, expands, and updates the fi rst edition while maintaining its organization and offering sustained analysis of a greater number of fi lms.

We believe that the most important and overarching aspect of the study of politics and fi lm is the political messages that movies may transmit. We therefore believe that such messages have potentially tremendous political signifi cance that transcends basic critical analysis. However, a major obstacle to the task of analyzing fi lm from this perspective is the general lack of reliable data and research that demonstrate (1) that movies indeed send messages beyond general and readily identifi able ideological impressions, and (2) that these messages have verifi able and measurable effects on the political behavior of individu-als and institutions. Although we present research to support these assumptions, it is not within the scope of our intentions for this text to prove that they are wholly valid. Rather we stress the importance of recognizing the varying degrees of political messaging intrinsic to most popular fi lms.

Preface

vii

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PREFACE

viii

Our interest here is exclusively with (more or less) American fi lms. Certainly foreign fi lms present an intriguing canon of politically interesting releases, but in addition to limit-ing our study to a manageable scope, we believe that American movies are the most likely both to be seen by readers and to infl uence American politics. Thus anyone with an interest in comparative studies will want to supplement this text with other materials. On a related note, we devote most of our attention to popular movies. Certainly other volumes could be devoted to fi lms that fewer people are likely to see, but we think that popular movies are the ones that are most likely to be politically salient—they are also the most accessible, both in terms of audience comprehension and ready availability.

Projecting Politics is divided into three parts. Part I provides a conceptual overview of the relationship between politics and fi lm. Chapter 1 explores the meaning of the term “politi-cal fi lm” in a systematic way, so as to assist those who study politics and fi lm. The goal is to identify a practical yet focused approach for thinking about and classifying all fi lms with respect to their political signifi cance. Chapter 2 explores how the various techniques involved in the production of movies help to create political messages. We examine the elements of fi lm production to reveal how cinematic language can be and has been used to shape political messages in various ways. Chapter 3 examines how the “real world” of politics, ideological institutions, and society affects the “reel world” of Hollywood and fi lm-making. While not meant to be an exhaustive examination, this chapter approaches that real-to-reel connection from a range of perspectives and fi nds that, historically, political forces have had a profound impact on the making of fi lms. We also argue that the worlds of fi lm and politics are increasingly intertwined. When fi lms like Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004), 2016: Obama’s America (2012), and Zero Dark Thirty (2012) draw audiences and incite political debate, and a fi lm like The Invisible War (2012) leads to landmark legislation, and an aging Hollywood action hero from fi lms like Total Recall (1990) wins a recall election to become governor of California, these worlds appear even to collide.

In Part II , we provide a historical overview of American fi lms of political signifi cance. Each chapter covers the fi lms of a decade; new to this edition is the chapter covering the period from 2000 through 2014. We recognize that categorizing fi lms in this way is some-what arbitrary. Both historical trends and trends in fi lmmaking overlap decades—and we take this overlap into account. But at the same time, referring to decades provides a ready historical context for the movies we discuss and helps readers comprehend change and development in political fi lmmaking by providing a rough chronological order. Although we look at the tenor of a range of fi lms in each decade, we generally focus most intently on fi lms with overt political themes and content.

Our discussion of each decade of movies is not intended to be entirely systematic from a critical-analytic perspective. In some instances, we seek to explore the political messages of fi lms; in others, we examine the impact or potential impact a fi lm had. We also look at why some fi lms of political signifi cance are more popular with critics and the public than others, as we believe that the reasons fi lms are successful have implications for the relationship between fi lm and politics. But we do not mean to imply that fi nancially unsuccessful movies are categorically without merit or political signifi cance. Additionally, we frequently cite box offi ce numbers and the comments of popular press movie critics as reception studies or indi-cations of how fi lms were received by audiences and made meaningful in popular culture.

Part III of this volume compiles four topical approaches to fi lm and politics: documenta-ries, race, gender, and, new to the second edition, the recently revived disaster and apocalyptic

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PREFACE

fi lm genre. Our discussion of minority fi lms in Chapter 13 uses as a case study movies by and about African-Americans and concerns racial politics specifi c to that socially designated group alone. This selective approach is not meant to suggest that the nexus of racial identity, race relations, fi lm, and politics is limited to the black experience or that conclusions drawn from this chapter should or even can be extrapolated to other groups. Rather the representa-tion of African-American culture in American popular fi lm offers an especially compelling and instructive case of how racial politics and Hollywood fi lmmaking intersect.

Finally, we include as an appendix a political fi lmography that compiles most of the more blatantly political fi lms in this book, plus others that space and time did not permit us to address, with their box offi ce performance.

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— Dedicated to Ruth Miller Haas and the memory of Harold Haas —

Contributor to the fi rst edition and sole author of the second edition, Elizabeth Haas, would like to acknowledge the principle authors of the fi rst edition, Terry Christensen and Peter Haas. It was a privilege to revise and expand their original work. Many thanks go to editor Suzanne Phelps Chambers and to research assistants James Griffi th and Julie Nagasaki. For helpful comments at the 2012 Society for Cinema and Media Studies Annual Conference and the 2014 Midwest Political Science Association Annual Conference much appreciation to Lisa Purse, Matthias Stork, and Natalie Taylor. Thanks also to colleagues Susan Crutch-fi eld, Frank Tomasulo, Roxana Walker-Canton, Montre Aza-Missouri, and Philip Bahr, and to students Angelika Zbikowski, Audra Martin, Eve Seiter, Michael Girandola, and Erik Fong, fi lm authorities all. Bridget Dalen supplied camaraderie and invaluable media exper-tise. Beth Carter, Janice Portentoso, Cheryl Eustace, Deede Demato, and Michelle Chapman provided friendship and the village it indeed takes. For inspiration and abiding kindness, gratitude unfeigned to Tobin Siebers. For making the world new every day, Dash and Jolie each: “Impossible without Me! That sort of Bear.”

Above all: Manyul.

Acknowledgments

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Studying Political Films

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Setting the Scene A Theory of Film and Politics

Argo (2012)

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STUDYING POLITICAL FILMS

The study of movies does not fi t neatly into the discipline of political science or the other social sciences. Although fi lm is a mass medium, political scientists have devoted decidedly less attention to it than to mass news media such as television, newspapers, the Internet, and, increasingly, to social media. 1 For one thing, data about movies are diffi cult to quantify in meaningful ways. From one perspective, movies are independent variables, cultural stimuli that potentially address and modify the political attitudes and behaviors of audiences and society. However, many fi lms—particularly the most fi nancially successful ones—seem themselves to be “caused” by external social and political conditions. Furthermore, certain fi lms seem to assume a life of their own and interact with the political environment. Well- publicized and sometimes controversial and politically charged movies such as All The Pres-ident’s Men (1976), Wag the Dog (1997), and Zero Dark Thirty (2012) can even become part of the political landscape and discourse.

However, thinking of movies as independent variables does not seem likely to shed light upon the more nuanced aspects of the relationship between fi lm and politics, especially for fi lms that are—on the surface, at least—not very political. And the relationship may be far more complex and fi nely calibrated than the typical social science model of clearly identifi ed independent and dependent variables. As Phillip Gianos notes, “politics and movies inform each other. . . . Both tell about the society from which they come.” 2 (Or as Wag the Dog ’s Hollywood movie producer hired to create a fi ctional war to distract the public’s attention from a presidential sex scandal cynically describes his efforts, “This is politics at its fi nest.”) Douglas Kellner argues that Hollywood fi lm actually “ intervenes in the political struggles of the day” and like American society constitutes contested territory. As such, “Films can be interpreted as a struggle of representation over how to construct a social world and everyday life.” 3 Rejecting a more passive model of thinking about fi lm and politics, these assessments point to politics and fi lm as actively engaged with each other.

Political analysis of fi lm has commonly taken a qualitative or even literary approach, although some intriguing research has explored the direct behavioral impact of specifi c fi lms. 4 A small- scale audience study in the mid- 1990s found that viewers of Oliver Stone’s controversial biopic JFK (1991) reported a signifi cant decrease in their intentions to vote. The authors determined that the fi lm’s assassination conspiracy premise left viewers with a “hopelessness” that extended to a sense of political futility. 5 A more recent investiga-tion working from a larger sample concluded that popular fi lms retain the power to shape political attitudes in part because the possibility for persuasion is greatest precisely when one is least aware that political messages are being communicated. The authors found that sentimental movies about personal struggles involving aspects of the healthcare system like the romantic comedy As Good As It Gets (1997), in which a waitress has diffi culty affording the healthcare of her ailing son, affected the way viewers appraised policies like the politically contentious Affordable Care Act, leading to the conclusion that “popular fi lms possess the capability to change attitudes on political issues” and that “the potential for popular fi lms to generate lasting attitudinal change presents an important area for future research.” 6 Within narrow fi elds of investigation, both studies found that a few spe-cifi c fi lms had certain measurable effects on generalized audience political outlooks and intentions.

One major obstacle to a more systematic and wider- reaching study of fi lm and politics is the lack of a clear defi nition of what constitutes a political fi lm. In this chapter, we fi rst

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SETTING THE SCENE: A THEORY OF FILM AND POLITICS

outline the contours of political fi lm categorization and then offer a plausible framework for classifying fi lms that may be used as a tool for in- depth analyses.

Political Content

Perhaps the most commonly used approach for distinguishing political fi lms is political con-tent. In this approach, political fi lms are presumed to be those that depict various aspects of the political system, especially (but not necessarily) political institutions, political actors, and/or the political system. Whereas nearly every movie that focuses on political content of this type would probably qualify as suffi ciently political, many other fi lms, some entirely devoid of explicit political references, are excluded using this approach. But in a sense, every fi lm has political signifi cance and meaning. All fi lms transmit ideas of political impor-tance if only by telling some stories instead of others or by favoring one character’s point of view over another’s.

Films on the whole mirror the way political processes manage the confl icting needs and demands of different groups of people. Filmmakers struggle to get projects made or to attract audiences to their work by striking some level of balance between appealing to current atti-tudes and tastes and challenging the same. Political constituencies compete with each other for infl uence and control while political representatives negotiate among them, often picking winners and losers along the way. Even by featuring a popular actor in a controversial part, fi lms indicate bias. Philadelphia (1993) provides a case in point. With all- American funny guy Tom Hanks in the role of an ailing, gay AIDS patient suing his employer for wrongful termination and handsome, winning Denzel Washington as his lawyer, the fi lm preemptively mitigates the chance of wholesale rejection at the box offi ce and builds in sympathy for a politically marginalized and, especially at the time of the fi lm’s release, socially reviled group. Anyone with an interest in the impact of movies must be prepared to sift through any movie as a potential vessel of political meaning.

Until recently, few book- length studies of a genre called “political fi lms” existed. Com-mercial categorizations and genre- based analyses alike have been apt to assign what are arguably political fi lms to other albeit fi tting categories like biography (e.g., Malcolm X , 1992; Erin Brockovich , 2000; W ., 2008; J. Edgar , 2011; Lincoln , 2012) or thriller (e.g., Argo , 2012; Broken City , 2013) as if these more readily agreed-upon and commercially proven genres were also defi nitive and exclusive. 7 Other approaches understandably blur the line between political and ideological meaning. These analyses tend not to establish clear separation between a fi lm’s depiction of a particular political realm and its ideologically more wide- reaching implications. After all, ideology has been called “the most elusive con-cept in the whole of social science” while at the same time proliferating as a critical category both in those sciences as well as in studies of fi lm—especially interdisciplinary approaches. 8

While ideology can refer to explicit political beliefs or belief systems like those endorsed by a particular political party or associated with liberal and conservative perspectives, the more philosophical and social-theoretical conception of ideology is more complex. Ideology in this usage refers to implicit views and assumptions that seem to be common-sense truths or natural beliefs, neutral in their apparent universality, but that really serve the interests of a ruling class or dominant force in society. By defi nition, this kind of ideology or “false ideas” can be diffi cult to discern. Yet Douglas Kellner suggests ideology “functions within popular

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STUDYING POLITICAL FILMS

culture and everyday life” and that “images and fi gures constitute part of the ideological rep-resentations of sex, race, and class in fi lm and popular culture.” 9 In this view most movies can be useful sites for uncovering ideological meaning not restricted to obvious political content.

For better or worse there has been and continues to be little critical unanimity about pre-cisely which form and content would unarguably indicate a political fi lm. American political fi lms have not widely or uniformly received recognition as a specifi c genre. For example, in the latest edition of the infl uential Film Genre Reader , not one of thirty- six chapters specifi -cally addresses political fi lms. 10 This omission contrasts with the decision of the Library of Congress’s Moving Image Genre Form Guide to include under “political” a succinct defi ni-tion: “Fictional work centering on the political milieu, often of candidates, elections, and elective or appointive offi ce. Some of the protagonists may be corrupt or dictatorial.” 11 The genre’s exclusion from the Film Genre Reader and inclusion in the Moving Image Genre Form Guide ’s comparatively exhaustive list, featuring more than 125 genres and including one dubbed “city symphony,” points less to a dearth of politically topical fi lms than to the widespread lack of consensus over what exact qualities constitute the genre. As implied by the Moving Image Genre Form Guide , there are perhaps enough fi lms that are overtly politi-cal to most viewers to constitute a genre, yet until the last few years they have not commonly been acknowledged, much less promoted, as such.

In fi lm criticism a genre is primarily defi ned as a category or group of fi lms about the same subject or marked by the same style—musicals, for example, or western, gangster, war, science fi ction, or horror movies. Yet most of these genres are “un- contentious,” declares Steve Neale, and their critical categorizations have “generally coincided with those used by the industry itself.” 12 Films in the same genre tend to look alike and observe certain conven-tions, although there are exceptions to both rules even among less controversial genres. Any given fi lm may obey many established generic conventions but vary enough in one crucial aspect that it defi es easy inclusion in that genre. Set in the past in the American west, and featuring horses, dramatic vistas, and physically tough cowboys of few words, Brokeback Mountain shares many conventions with the western. The queer sexuality of its main charac-ter, Heath Ledger’s tortured ranch- hand Ennis Del Mar, however, breaks with the western’s characterization of masculinity as a function of heterosexuality. On the other end of the issue of genre and inclusiveness, Thelma and Louise (1991) is considered a road movie or buddy fl ick, but it also includes many conventions of the western genre. Played by Geena Davis and Susan Sarandon, the title characters are outlaws on the run through Monument Valley, the location of many John Ford westerns from the 1930s and 1940s, and their fate is straight out of the incontestable western Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969). Their plight chal-lenges the patriarchal foundation to civilization’s ideas of justice and revenge, a gendered take on a familiar western theme.

Critics often group movies into genres for the purpose of comparison and discussion; audiences, sometimes unknowingly, do the same thing. But political fi lms do not seem to fi t into a unique, recognizable genre marketed to stimulate and fulfi ll audience expectations. They seem more to illustrate what critics call “hybrid” and “multi- generic” classifi cations and the tendency of some Hollywood genres to “overlap.” 13 In practical terms, the quandary looks like this: Is The Green Zone (2010), a fi lm about the failure to locate weapons of mass destruction in Iraq and thereby validate the political justifi cation for the United States’ invasion, a war fi lm or a political fi lm? Are Oliver Stone’s Nixon (1995) and Ron Howard’s Frost/Nixon (2008) both political fi lms by virtue of their eponymous portrayals, despite

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SETTING THE SCENE: A THEORY OF FILM AND POLITICS

marked differences in tone, plot, and time period dramatized? If the answer is a self- evident “yes,” then does the satirical “sly little comic treasure” Dick (1999) by defi nition belong in the same camp? 14 Finally, is an obviously political movie like The Candidate (1972) political in the same sense as a satire like Election (1999) or a comedy like The Campaign (2012)? All three movies deal with the political process in the largest sense, but they share little in terms of content, structure, or message to the viewing audience.

We can suggest at least four reasons for the lack of a clearly defi ned genre of political fi lms:

1. Supposedly political fi lms lack the internal consistency of other fi lm genres—the forms that political movies take vary widely (e.g., The Candidate and Election and The Campaign ; Nixon , Frost/Nixon , and Dick ).

2. Political fi lms do not share as many conventions of plot, character, and iconography as do other genres.

3. Overtly political fi lms often allow for variation within the genre by combining descriptions, as in “political comedy” (e.g., The Dark Horse , 1932; Man of the Year , 2006; The Campaign , 2012) or “political thriller” (e.g., The Bourne Identity fran-chise, 2002, 2004, 2007, 2012), thus vitiating their status.

4. Filmmakers and perhaps popular critics fear the label of political fi lm as box offi ce anathema, meaning that fi lmmakers may consciously avoid making political fi lms, may depict political topics through allegory to shroud political intent (e.g., Invasion of the Body Snatchers , 1958, 1976; The Godfather trilogy, 1972, 1974, 1990), or may attempt to depoliticize the ones they do make ( Argo ; Zero Dark Thirty ).

Even if there were a widely recognized and readily recognizable genre of political fi lms, it would probably not help to identify the kinds of political messages that can appear in many less explicitly political fi lms. It would thus divert attention from the frequently interesting political aspects of otherwise seemingly apolitical fi lms. This murky relationship between explicitly and obliquely political fi lms persists even when headlines like “Politics Reigns at Golden Globes” trumpeted the surprising critical and box offi ce successes Argo , Zero Dark Thirty , and Lincoln in 2012. 15 Set decades apart in time among divergent kinds of political players and laying out contrasting moral dilemmas, these fi lms showcase the vibrancy of the political fi lm spectrum. Their popularity does not, however, put the genre on a stable foot-ing, as their considerable differences make plain. Recent studies that more or less take the genre’s parameters for granted and/or lean heavily on this book’s typology of political fi lms to make their case have not extinguished the need for an updated and expanded analytic framework befi tting the ambiguous nature of politically imbued fi lms that this second edi-tion provides. 16 The diversity among these recent analyses, both their analytic styles and the fi lms they include, further underscores the diffi culty in staking the genre’s claim to politi-cally relevant movies.

Sending Political Messages

A second common approach to identifying political fi lms places emphasis on the politi-cal or ideological messages they impart. Samuel Goldwyn’s famous bromide (“Messages are for Western Union!”) notwithstanding, movies frequently do bear political messages. 17

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Rather explicit ideological messages may be present in fi lms entirely devoid of explicit political referents; however, many of the political messages conveyed by movies are not the result of conscious planning by fi lmmakers. 18 The depiction of gender roles in movies of the 1930s and 1940s has been interpreted as speaking volumes about the gender politics of that era, although in many cases this effect was not necessarily the intent of the fi lmmakers. Indeed, it is probably safe to say that most, if not all, contemporary American movies are not intended to send any particular political or ideological message; most are probably meant only to entertain and, more importantly, to make money. Those that do impart a lesson by the fi lm’s end tend to be dramas that stress personal, emotional, or sentimental messages that, in fact, occlude or undermine a fi lm’s politics. For example, the critically acclaimed hit Silver Linings Playbook (2012) draws audiences into the painful, bewildering, and at times absurd world of psychological illness by bringing Pat, a man trying for a second chance in life after a bipolar diagnosis, to three- dimensional life. The fi lm does not really concern the shortcomings of a health care system that fails him. In contrast, Stephen Soderbergh’s thriller Side Effects (2013) also addresses issues of mental well- being but does so by taking on the psychopharmacological business, questioning the cozy relationship between doctors and the drug industry and, more broadly, people’s dependency on medications like its fi ctional anti-depressant Ablixa. At the same time, for all its skepticism toward the entwining relationship between high fi nance and the omnipotent pharmaceutical industry, the fi lm aims to thrill as a whodunit and does not sacrifi ce suspense to make a political statement.

The overriding importance of economics to the fi lm industry makes all the more remark-able the twenty- fi rst- century increase in the production of fi lms depicting political processes, exploring the politics of war, and showcasing characters inscribed by their proximity to institutional power (e.g., Charlie Wilson’s War [2007] is all of these). Their very numbers and unprecedented dominance at the 2013 awards season prove a new interest by fi lm-makers in creating, and by the public in watching, ideologically charged fi lms. This trend is no less important for being downplayed by those most responsible for creating it . Char-lie Wilson’s War is about the U.S. intervention in the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, and Argo dramatizes a little known rescue of American diplomats by the CIA and the Canadian ambassador during the overthrow of the shah in Iran. Both address international politics of the 1970s and 1980s and build from the heroism of real people, highlighting how much it helps to have a good yarn to tell. Tom Hanks, the lead actor and producer of Charlie Wilson’s War , explains, “It’s almost like an anecdotal story of look how curious things can happen in the political world when no one is paying attention to what you are doing, which is prob-ably the best way politics works. . . . What’s great about non- fi ction fi lms even though we make a fake movie about it is that it gives the audience the knowledge of the fourth and the fi fth act that goes on afterwards.” 19 On the other hand, director and lead actor Ben Affl eck feared partisanship would poison Argo at the box offi ce. In an article titled “Affl eck Says No Politics in ‘Argo,’” he shrugs off the political aspect of his award- winning hit: “I didn’t want the movie politicized. I have Republican friends and Democratic friends and wanted them all to see the movie and enjoy it in equal measure. I certainly didn’t want it to be politicized internationally, either.” 20

Regarding the perhaps unintentional political statements offered by many movies, James Combs offers a useful analogy of the movie as a political participant: “A fi lm participates in a political time not in how it was intended, but how it was utilized by those who saw it.” 21 This outlook raises the question of whether the intentions of fi lmmakers are a legitimate and

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signifi cant focus for the political analysis of fi lms. For among many fi lm scholars and crit-ics, discussing the fi lmmakers’ intent implies a problematic methodological and conceptual conundrum. First, many if not most Hollywood fi lms are the result of a group fi lmmaking process, so to talk about the political intentions of the fi lmmaker may be truly inaccurate. Second, many scholars and critics of the literary tradition and the declared “death of the author” point of view regard cinematic output as a text that must speak for itself. 22 According to this approach, the political motives of the creators of fi lms are ultimately irrelevant to the meaning a fi lm has for, and the effects it has upon, its audience.

However, when the task at hand is political analysis, the intentions of fi lmmakers are arguably much more germane. As Beverly Kelley notes, “movies refl ect political choices.” 23 In this respect, to create fi lm is to participate politically. And like all political participation, some fi lmmaking is more rational, effective, and ultimately more politically noteworthy than the rest. Therefore, the political motivations and intentions of fi lms and fi lmmakers should be of great interest to students of political fi lms, which is one reason why this book tends to focus on fi lms that seem to have been made to impart a political message.

Political Film as Political Theories

Another way of looking at the relationship between fi lm and politics is to regard fi lms as potential vehicles of political theory. After all, the almost magical capacity of fi lms to cre-ate or alter reality can be seen as analogous to the machinations of political theorists. Most movies seek either to mimic and/or re- create reality or to bend and twist reality in creative ways. Some movies may even do both, or attempt to. The two predominant dimensions of political fi lms—content and intent—seem to parallel the two major strands of political theory—empirical and normative.

Political content, which frequently entails depicting, more or less accurately, if not realistically, some aspect of political reality, resembles empirical (or descriptive) polit-ical theory. Thus, fi lms that emphasize describing political institutions, processes, and

In Charlie Wilson’s War (2007), Julia Roberts plays a wealthy socialite, Joanne Herring, who urges louche Texas congressman Charlie Wilson, played by Tom Hanks, to intervene on behalf of Afghan rebels against Soviet forces in the early 1980s.

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actors—rare as they may be—may help audiences to understand political phenomena. Conversely, if such fi lms do a poor job of representing political reality or if they contradict the assumptions and perceptions of their audience, they may incite objections or even ridi-cule. Regardless of its accuracy, this kind of political content almost always makes mov-ies seem more political. Like empirical political theory, political content usually helps to describe and explain how politics works. Of course, many movies only marginally invoke this kind of political content. For example, legal thrillers such as A Civil Action (1998) and Michael Clayton (2007), or even the slavery- era Amistad (1997), almost invariably provide some insight into the judicial system and legal theory, but such content is usually not the fi lm’s central focus.

Political intent generally resembles normative (or judgmental) political theory in that it seeks to judge, prescribe, and/or persuade. Films that are loaded with intentional political messages explicitly challenge the values of the audience and may even incite it to political action. On the other hand, the political messages of many movies may be lost on the audi-ence amid a sea of competing cinematic themes—usually more personal than political. As the authors of the seminal Film and Society Since 1945 explain, “Most American social and political fi lms . . . defi ne political events in terms of an individual’s fate and conscious-ness.” 24 Like normative political theory, however, movies rife with ideological messages may fail to affect unreceptive audiences who reject their exhortations. Or, as often seems the case, political messages may be squarely aimed at the choir of true believers who are likely to agree with a fi lm’s message without having seen it. A serial adaptation of Ayn Rand’s novel Atlas Shrugged (2011, 2012, 2014) bears out this claim. Supporters of Rand’s politi-cal ideology championed the low- budget productions with an “it’s about time!” attitude and wore their enthusiasm for the poorly received fi lms as a badge of honor. 25 Even the complete cast change in the second installment did not dampen Rand- believers’ support even as the franchise’s “preaching to the choir” effect likely hurt its ability to draw many nonbelievers. In his disparaging review of part one, Roger Ebert anticipates the predisposition of Rand- fans and tacitly warns off anyone else: “Let’s say . . . you’re an objectivist or a libertarian, and you’ve been waiting eagerly for this movie. Man, are you going to get a letdown. It’s not enough that a movie agree with you, in however an incoherent and murky fashion. It would help if it were like, you know, entertaining?” 26 Reviewing the third installment, Alan Scherstuhl cannot resist taking ironic note of the contradiction between the fi lm’s ideological cant and its artistic value: “Rand’s parable is meant to showcase just how much our world needs the best of us, but this adaptation only does so accidentally—by revealing what mov-ies would be like if none of the best of us worked on them.” 27

A Basic Typology of Political Films

The two dimensions of political content and intent identifi ed earlier may be combined to create a basic means of classifying fi lms according to their political signifi cance. Figure 1.1 illustrates the matrix created by the two dimensions. Most fi lms probably fall well within the extremes described by this matrix, but these extremes suggest pure types that may be useful as tools for analyzing movies. At the positive extremes of both political content and intent, in the upper right corner of the diagram, arguably lie the most obviously political of all fi lms, consistent with the label of pure political fi lms and the bare- bones description by the Library of Congress. Such fi lms are set in a recognizably political environment and depict political

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actors and institutions, thus providing cues to their audiences and presumably describing the fi lmmaker’s view of political reality.

Note that the “pure” designation does not necessarily mean that such fi lms are more or less political than others, nor does it mean that “pure” political genre fi lms exist in a defi ni-tive sense. In the words of Janet Staiger, “Hollywood fi lms have never been ‘pure’—that is, easily arranged into categories. All that has been pure has been sincere attempts to fi nd order among variety.” 28 In this quest for “order among variety,” the “pure political movies” desig-nation means that the political nature of such fi lms will be fairly evident to most audiences. In fact, pure political fi lms may suffer in a sense from their very transparency. Audiences may understandably recoil from movies that combine heavy doses of both political context and ideological cant. Combs and Combs fi nd that such efforts are prone to evoking the “poli-tics of the obvious.” 29

Most movies, we will argue, send political or protopolitical messages that audiences may not even notice, but these overtly political fi lms are political in a way that all of us readily perceive: they focus on politicians, elections, government, and the political process ( Table 1.1 ). These are the explicitly political fi lms that fulfi ll the Library of Congress’s genre requirements, the message movies that Goldwyn warned against. The tradition of the political fi lm began before The Birth of a Nation (1915) and includes The Jungle (1914), a movie adapted from the radical immigrant novel/meatpacking industry exposé of the same title by journalist- socialist Upton Sinclair. In an essay titled “The Visual Politics of Class,” Steven J. Ross notes, “By 1910, movies about class struggle grew so numerous that review-ers began speaking of a new genre of ‘labor- capital’ fi lms.” 30 Even the fi rst campaign ad preceded D.W. Griffi th’s offensive epic; pro- Woodrow Wilson, “The Old Way and the New” hit screens in 1912. 31

Figure 1.1 Types of Political Films Suggested by Dimensions of Content and Intent

Political content (high)

Political content (low)

Political intent (low)

Political intent (high)

Politically reflective movies

Pure political movies

Socially reflectivemovies

Auteur political movies

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Some political movies are comedies ( Man of the Year , 2006; The Campaign , 2012), oth-ers are thrillers ( Three Days of the Condor , 1975; State of Play , 2009; The Ides of March , 2011), many are melodramas ( The Gorgeous Hussey , 1936; Meet John Doe , 1944; A Face in the Crowd , 1957), and more than a few are biographies ( The Young Mr. Lincoln ; W. , 2008; Iron Lady , 2012; Lincoln , 2012). Many (e.g., All Quiet on the Western Front , 1930; Pla-toon , 1986; Stop- Loss , 2008; The Hurt Locker , 2008) deal with the issues of war and peace, while others (e.g., Gentleman’s Agreement , 1947; Brubaker, 1980; Silkwood , 1983; Boys Don’t Cry , 1999; Bamboozled , 2000; and Good Night and Good Luck , 2005) confront social problems such as discrimination, the need for prison reform and work safety regulations, gender- based crime, and the moral responsibilities of the entertainment industry and the press in a free society. More contentious issue movies such as Norma Rae (1979), The China Syndrome (1979), and Erin Brockovich (2000) are even more obviously political. Most of these fi lms criticize specifi c aspects of the political process, but a few, like Network (1976), go even further by offering a broad critique of the entire political and socioeconomic system. All of these movies have as their core a political message that any viewer can perceive; their themes are not competing with mythic characterization and special effects as in Christopher Nolan’s dystopian Batman trilogy (2005, 2008, 2012). Their critiques are not couched in the lifestyle of a hooker with a heart of gold (à la Pretty Woman , 1990) or obscured by the cartoon styling of WALL- E (2008) or Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs (2009), two chil-dren’s movies rife with comic yet ominous warnings about the fate of the environment and out- of- control American consumerism.

In the lower right corner of Figure 1.1, where extremely high political intent meets diminished political content, are fi lms that may be described as “auteur” political movies. The “auteur” designation does not necessarily confer the traditional meaning of a director with fi rm artistic control (discussed in Chapter 2 ); rather, it suggests fi lms in which politi-cal meaning is imparted—perhaps artistically—without overt reference to obvious political imagery. Instead, such fi lms may typically invoke symbolism and other artistic devices to transmit their politically charged messages. Their richest interpretations may rely more heavily than other fi lms do on the political and social climate of the time of their production. Films as diverse as The Wizard of Oz (1939), versions of The Invasion of the Body Snatch-ers (1956, 1978, 1993) and The Crucible (1957, 1996), the Alien movies (1979, 1986, 1992, 1997), and the phenomenally popular, cottage industry Star Wars franchise invite symbolic

Table 1.1

Examples of Film Types

Politically refl ective fi lms Pure (overt) political fi lms

Independence DayInvasion of the Body SnatchersMany legal, western, and gangster fi lms

Mr. Smith Goes to WashingtonThe CandidateMost social problem and documentary fi lmsPropaganda fi lms

Socially refl ective fi lms Auteur political fi lms

Pretty WomanGone With the WindMany other genre fi lms

The GodfatherNatural Born Killers

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reading beyond their embrace of conventions associated with historical, science fi ction, and fantasy genres. For example, viewers commonly consider 1957’s The Crucible , based on Arthur Miller’s play, a morality tale about the destructive Communist “witch hunts” of the 1950s. In the post- Soviet era of the 1990s, the allegory’s new historical context opened the fi lm to an interpretation of the upright Proctors and their predicament as a backlash against the politics of feminism. Or as Roger Ebert only half- jokingly supposed, “Perhaps every age gets the Crucible it deserves. Anyone who has seen the recent documentary Paradise Lost: The Child Murders of Robin Hood Hills will recognize in its portrait of a small Arkansas town many parallels with this fable about Salem, including those who mask their own doubts in preemptive charges of Satanic conspiracies.” 32 Even the classic, bittersweet love triangle Casablanca (1942) is often interpreted as a call to arms to the United States during World War II. Rick’s mantra, “I stick my neck out for nobody,” is widely read as Americans’ initial reluctance to join the fi ght.

The upper left corner of Figure 1.1 depicts fi lms with obvious political content that are more or less devoid of intentional political messages. Films in this area are designated “politically refl ective” because they often mirror popular ideas about political phenomena. This label covers fi lms from other genres (romantic comedies, thrillers, etc.) that use politi-cal institutions as convenient backdrops to other sorts of themes. For example, the 1990s witnessed the release of a spate of fi lms featuring the American presidency. These fi lms do, of course, address political issues, but they generally use the institution as a convenient ploy to evoke other themes; the intentional political agendas of fi lms such as Independence Day (1996), which features a president as a kind of action hero, seem marginal at best. With Annette Bening playing Sydney, an environmental lobbyist and love interest to Michael Douglas’s widowed President Shepherd, the romantic comedy The American President (1995) also fi ts as an example. The fi lm humanizes the president in the service of romance. With a script by celebrated political drama writer Aaron Sorkin, issues like gun control share the screen with more personal concerns like the one voiced by Sydney’s boss: “The time it will take you to go from presidential girlfriend to cocktail party joke can be measured on an egg timer.” Even this observation—all the more cruel for being true and symptomatic of larger concerns about the highest offi ce in the land never having been held by a woman—delivers comedy and little else on behalf of the fi lm’s putative politics.

Such fi lms may be of particular signifi cance with respect to providing symbolic referents to political phenomena. Dan Nimmo and James Combs provide a compelling description of how such fi lms can unintentionally create political meanings for audiences. 33 Nimmo and Combs work from Murray Edelman’s postulate that the mass public does not experience politics through direct involvement; instead, its perceptions are founded upon and fi ltered by symbolic representations, such as those provided by the fi lm medium. 34 So movies set in political or quasi- political contexts are likely sources of the symbolic content that informs mass understanding of the political system.

Films that avoid both overt political messages and reference to explicitly political events are located in the lower left corner of Figure 1.1 and are labeled “socially refl ective” fi lms. Most Hollywood movies probably fall near this designation, if not squarely in it. Most mov-ies neither feature blatantly political contexts nor evoke intentional political messages to audiences; however, that is not to say that most movies are not at all political. For example, most of the fi lms examined in Chapter 15 , “Women, Politics, and Film: All About Eve?,” fall in the category of “socially refl ective.” With neither intentional political messaging nor

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political events anchoring their plots, most of these fi lms instead refl ect, and refl ect on, the public’s attitudes toward women and gender norms.

Despite the benign intentions of their creators, both the socially refl ective and politically refl ective types of fi lm are frequently pregnant with political meaning. Nimmo and Combs further contend that all social reality is “mediated” by means of communication—much of it the mass communication exemplifi ed by fi lm. Film, moreover, is a “democratic art,” whose success as an enterprise is dependent upon the favor of mass audiences. 35 Successful movies, therefore, tend to be the ones that show the public what it wants to see—just as successful political candidates typically tell the public what it wants to hear. Thus, a very popular movie can tell us something politically signifi cant and socially revealing about the audience.

Analyzing the Unpolitical Political Film

Most viewers can recognize overtly political fi lms; however, many fi nd it diffi cult to rec-ognize fi lms that fall roughly into the lower left quadrant of Figure 1.1—socially refl ective movies—as examples of political fi lmmaking. A casual observer can interpret and under-stand the obvious political fi lms, and some can navigate the subtle ideological nuances of auteur political efforts. Archetypical political classics such as Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) and The Candidate are generally well received by contemporary audiences despite their dated qualities. More diffi cult for many is the leap toward understanding how otherwise ostensibly benign fi lms such as Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) or even politi-cal thrillers such as Blow Out (1981) or Syriana (2005) can imply messages—both from the fi lmmaker and about the audience as well as society itself. With this text, we hope to provide readers with the examples and analytic tools they need to make these interpretations more readily.

How do otherwise mostly apolitical movies evoke political themes? First and foremost, movies intended for mass audiences are invariably moneymaking propositions. Gianos notes that “biases follow from fi lms’ most basic role as vehicles for profi t making . . . these biases, of course, are the point.” 36 Nimmo and Combs state that “those movies that sell and those few that endure do so because they have treated selected cultural themes that were on the minds, or in the back of the minds, of large numbers of people.” 37 Popular movies, in other words, invoke popular ideas about politics. Such fi lms may individually be more or less innocuous, yet collectively infl uential: “The power of any single movie to infl uence one’s viewpoint is limited, but obviously repetition has its effect.” 38

A potential problem for scientifi c observers of political fi lms is recognizing within themselves the proclivity to respond to such themes. A useful analytic question to pose when viewing such fi lms is this: To which mass, politically relevant beliefs, hopes, or fears does this fi lm appeal? This is not a straightforward question to answer, because as Nimmo and Combs observe, “people sort themselves on the basis of the cultural [fi lm] fantasies that they want to believe.” 39 As moviegoers, we must examine not only our own values and beliefs but also those of others and of society at large. The following section explores various avenues of analysis by which students of fi lm and politics may arrive at insights into the political aspects of inexplicitly political fi lms. Whereas these patterns may be found in all types of fi lm, they are perhaps most likely to appear in socially or politically refl ective fi lms.

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Sublimated Politics in the Movies

Fantastic Displacement

Nimmo and Combs draw particular attention to movies that involve what they call “fantastic displacement . . . the process of placing fantasies of an age in a melodramatic setting and story that covertly mediates the political fantasy for a mass audience to make their fantasies palatable and entertaining.” 40 As an example of this process, Nimmo and Combs cite the science fi ction fi lms of the 1950s, which seemed to substitute fears of alien invasions and discoveries of earthly mutant creatures for anxiety about the spread of the ostensible Com-munist threat and the dawning of the nuclear age following the unleashing of the atomic bomb. Likewise, the spate of eco- catastrophe and epidemic fi lms of the late 1990s and the beginning of the new century might be viewed as substituting fantastic threats like asteroids and volcanoes for anxiety about the fragile ecosystem of earth and the susceptibility of the world’s population to global outbreaks of disease.

Although many viewers are readily able to identify these patterns in older fi lms, such as Them! and Creature from the Black Lagoon (both 1954) and Invasion of the Body Snatchers and Forbidden Planet (both 1956), they tend to miss—or even emotionally reject—similar patterns in movies of their own era. They prefer instead to view cautionary tales as entertain-ing but safely far- fetched. For example, The Terminator (1984, 1991, 2003, 2009) and Trans-former (2007, 2009, 2011, 2014) franchises translate rather straightforwardly into anxieties about increasing interdependence between humans and technology. Less obviously, these fi lms’ cyborg imagery resonates with the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq—the longest in U.S. history—and their aftermaths. Due to medical advances on the battlefi eld, injured soldiers from these wars survive wounds that would have proved fatal in previous wars, even one as recent as the 1991 Persian Gulf War. Wounded veterans return with machinery appended in previously impossible ways to their bodies. Some even have prosthetic limbs capable of responding to thought patterns. Their renewed bodies visibly signify human vulnerability, the stuff of technology- obsessed movie nightmares.

In the critical and box offi ce disappointment Battleship (2012), a real- life double- amputee U.S. Army offi cer who served in both Iraq and Afghanistan plays a soldier pitted against a fully armored alien in a scene edited to highlight the similarity between the soldier’s pros-thetic legs and the gleaming metallic limbs of the alien. That these foreign occupations did not merit mention during the 2012 Republican presidential nominee’s convention speech suggests that both the wars and the plight of returning veterans remain meager subtext to the national conversation in which the economy repeatedly crowds out all other issues. Even unintentionally, movies can redirect attention to subjects the national psyche would repress.

Portrayals of Race and Gender

Perhaps one of the most common means by which political messages seep through Holly-wood fi lms is through portrayal of sex, race, and gender roles. Audiences are typically able to identify and analyze the signifi cance of dated portrayals of race and gender in older fi lms (e.g., the black porters and the deferential female roles in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington ), but are often at a loss to identify equally dubious portrayals—or revealing absences—in

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more contemporary fi lms. One problem with identifying politically signifi cant portrayals of race and gender is the wide variety of ways they may refl ect political concerns. Among the many possibilities: some fi lms invoke offensive or dated stereotypes; others use plot devices to punish certain types of characters, such as independent women or minority fi gures; while other fi lms signal ideas about politically sidelined groups through their token presence or complete absence. 41

Examples of problematic African- American stereotyping include the highly sexualized Leticia played by Halle Berry in Monster’s Ball (2001), the “gentle giant” football player in The Blind Side (2009), and the obese, poor, illiterate, young black woman who is sexually and emotionally abused as the title character in Precious (2009). (Tellingly, all three of these fi lms garnered Academy Awards in acting categories, including the fi rst- ever win for Best Actress by an African- American, Halle Berry.) Characters punished for their independence include a range of women portraying law offi cers, including Jamie Lee Curtis’s New York policewoman Meghan in Blue Steel (1990), Jodie Foster’s FBI agent Starling in Silence of the Lambs (1991), Jennifer Lopez’s Chicago cop Sharon in Angel Eyes (2001), and Angelina Jolie’s CIA agent and title character in Salt (2010). These women all go through extended trials- by- fi re to prove themselves worthy of their institutional authority and the trust of their predominantly male colleagues. The relationship they bear to their badges and all that those badges symbolize more than informs these fi lms; it shapes their plots.

Finally, Adilifu Nama describes the lack of African- American characters in science fi ction fi lms as a structured or symbolic absence. Stanley Kubrick’s classic 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), for example, appears devoid of any references to race and therefore neutral on the subject. Closer analysis, however, uncovers a symbolic blackness in the fi lm that, according to Nama, “suggests that nonwhites are primitive simian predecessors of modern humanity.” He describes this meaningful absence as a consistent feature of the science fi ction genre to be diagnosed with a certain amount of self- described hyperbole: “For decades it appeared as if science fi ction cinema was the symbolic wish fulfi llment of America’s staunchest advocates

In Battleship (2012), real- life Iraq war veteran and double- amputee Col. Gregory D. Gadson plays Lt. Col. Mick Canales, facing off against an alien whose metallic exterior compares to Gadson’s prosthetic legs. Despite Gadson’s actual state- of- the- art knees, this scene used computer- generated imaging to create his legs.

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of white supremacy.” 42 The fi lms of Clint Eastwood often present women characters in a related presence- through- absence manner. Referred to by other characters but neither seen nor heard on screen, dead wives haunt an array of Eastwood leads. These include city detec-tive Harry Callahan in Dirty Harry (1971), Old West gunfi ghter Bill Munny in Unforgiven (1995), cat burglar Luther Whitney in Absolute Power (1997), and disgruntled Korean War vet Walt Kowalski in Gran Torino (2008). The wives’ merely implied presence affects how these men understand themselves but, more importantly, frees them to take action in male- dominated worlds where patriarchy remains a seemingly uncontested fact.

Genre

Genres develop through the dialectic of convention repetition and selective convention vari-ation. The content of this repetition is replete with clues about the political and social val-ues of fi lmmakers and audiences alike. The variations from established conventions can be equally telling and instructive. Audiences expect certain outcomes (e.g., the good guys should win). Once again, contemporary viewers tend to be more comfortable identifying such patterns in older genre efforts (e.g., westerns) than they are with contemporary releases. For example, some audiences may be reluctant to identify the gender dichotomy inherent in classic “slasher” fi lms as well as in newer models of the genre, such as the ironic, self- aware franchise Scream (1996, 1997, 2000, 2011). Male viewers in particular may resist the idea that these horror fi lms frequently punish sexually active girls with a vengeance fi ercer than any meted out to their male peers. On the other hand, viewers may also struggle with the interpretation Carol Clover provides of the Final Girl—her term for the teen who survives the typical slasher massacre. Clover’s Men, Women, and Chainsaws: Gender in the Mod-ern Horror Film claims that male and female viewers alike identify with, rather than root against, the survivor of the genre even though that person is typically female and, by defi ni-tion, chaste. 43

Types of Political Messages

Americans in general do not trust politicians. In fact, politics as a respected profession ranks well below medicine, law, engineering, teaching, dentistry, and the ministry. A 2013 Gal-lup poll found that only 8 percent of those surveyed would rate the honesty and ethical standards of members of Congress as high or very high—only lobbyists ranked lower with 6 percent. Nurses, pharmacists, and grade school teachers rated at the top. 44 At the start of 2013, moreover, Congress’s approval rating was a dismal 14 percent, the lowest in history according to Gallup. 45 In the words of one headline, “Congress Approval Rating Lower Than Cockroaches, Genghis Khan.” 46

People get their ideas about politicians from experience, the news media, and the process of political socialization. Movies play a part in this process by creating or refl ecting attitudes about politicians, and as we will see, the cinematic portrait of politics and politicians is almost invariably negative. Politicians are often the villains in movies. They are frequently corrupt, greedy, self- serving, and ruthlessly ambitious. Conversely, real politicians of the past, such as Abraham Lincoln and Franklin D. Roosevelt—Spielberg’s Lincoln and the Bill Murray FDR vehicle, Hyde Park on Hudson (2012) notwithstanding—are treated with such reverence in movies that they become boring and unbelievable. Neither depiction is

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accurate, of course, but both reinforce the popular view of politicians as either murderous crooks or heroic saviors.

Condemning the cardboard clichés of corrupt politics and conniving politicians, former senators William S. Cohen and Gary Hart have charged that fi lm and television producers are naive about how Washington really works and are dangerously misleading their view-ers. 47 Television commentator Andy Rooney responded that the public “understands that the crooked politician is a standard dramatic cliché that is no more typical of the average politi-cian than the winding marble staircase in a home shown on television is typical of a staircase in an American home.” 48 Cohen and Hart suggest that movies and TV shape our view of politicians, whereas Rooney insists that we know the difference between fact and fi ction. Like others who feel maligned by the media, the senators may be laying too much blame on the movies, but Rooney is probably letting fi lmmakers off the hook too easily. Movies really do shape, refl ect, and reinforce our opinions, even though we often dismiss them as silly—“It’s only a movie.”

Movies, as we noted earlier, also tell us about the political system and how it works, or whether it works—that is, whether it can solve our problems. Usually, they tell us that bad people can mess up the system and good ones can set it right. On the whole, these movies reinforce the status quo, telling us that all is well in America and that any little problems can be worked out, usually with the help of a heroic leader. They seldom point out fundamental defects in the system, and they rarely suggest that social problems can be solved by collec-tive or communal action. They simplify the complex problems of a complex society, solving them quickly and easily so we can have a happy ending. Some critics see a conspiracy in this pattern, but most agree that it is unconscious and, to some extent, executed in collusion with audiences more willing to have their opinions reinforced than challenged. Selective perception enables us to ignore even movies that question our biases. Hollywood’s ubiqui-tous happy endings further mute such challenges by suggesting that problems can be easily solved. The results are what fi lm scholars call “dramas of reassurance,” movies that support commonly held ideas and tell us that everything is fi ne.

Political movies send messages about other important aspects of public life, too. Their images of politics, politicians, and the political system infl uence participation in politics, for example. If politics is corrupt or if heroes and heroines always come to the rescue, perhaps there is no need to fi ght city hall. If the movie version of politics makes those of us who are not stars irrelevant, perhaps we need not participate. Power is another frequent subject of movies, almost always treated negatively, usually by falling back on the old maxim that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. For an example, we need look no further than the fi lm that takes its name from the saying: Absolute Power contains a president so craven and villainous he kills his best friend’s wife during a violent tryst, then to protect himself orders his Secret Service men to kill a very indirectly involved second woman sim-ply because she is a prosecutor. Only a handful of totally selfl ess, godlike leaders such as Hollywood’s favorite president, Abraham Lincoln, manage to exercise power and still come across as virtuous.

Most American movies avoid, ignore, oversimplify, or denigrate political ideology, yet ideology is essential if we are to understand politics. Ideologies help us make sense of the world around us. They help us decide whether we are satisfi ed with the status quo or willing to change it. All of us have some sort of ideology, but many Americans pretend they have none, and so do most of our movies. No wonder the political motives of most fi lm characters

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are personal ambition and greed. The rare ideologues in American political movies are one- dimensional and often silly, thus caricaturing ideology itself. As a consequence, American movies, lacking a rich variety of perspectives on society, tend to see confl ict as a struggle between good and evil or right and wrong. Political scientists have noted that Americans, as a people, are pragmatic rather than ideological. They adapt to conditions rather than react-ing to them from a fi xed point of view. Such ideology is vague and largely unarticulated. Alternatives are seldom expressed, and we have been taught, partly by political movies, that ideology is foolish, impractical, or evil. Indeed, American ideology as exhibited both in political fi lm and in the larger society might be said to be essentially anti- ideological because of its emphasis on pragmatism and consensus. We like to make things work, and we do not like confl ict. Both of these orientations lead us to mute ideology. But also we place a high value on individualism, competition, and social equality, all of which are traditional com-ponents of an ideology—and all of which are themes that recur in American political fi lms.

Political movies thus send many different messages. They describe us, shape us, and sometimes move us. Although some themes recur, the messages and our reactions to them tend to vary over time, refl ecting the historical and political context. This survey therefore treats American political movies chronologically, although we will return to their common themes and focus on some specifi c issues. Subsequent chapters of this text will explore how the fi lms of various eras and genres evoke the various kinds of political signifi cance we have discussed.

The Impact of Political Films

The study of political fi lms interests us as political scientists and fi lm critics primarily because we theorize that such fi lms might have some kind of impact on the political system; how-ever, the specifi c forms of such an impact remain largely unexplored by both disciplines. A priori, we can hypothesize several non- mutually- exclusive ways that movies affect politics:

Movies Contribute to General Social and Political Learning, Including Affective Patterns

Movies are part of a larger political socialization process. Just as we learn about our political system in school and other social institutions, we learn by going to movies. This socializa-tion process may include learning affective patterns, such as support for or opposition to the role of government. For example, if one attends enough movies like Independence Day or Air Force One (1997) as an impressionable youth, one might be disposed to expect extraor-dinary achievements by U.S. presidents. A lack of examples of important female politicians on screen may undergird public reluctance to support such candidates.

Movies Provide Information About and/or Orientation to Specifi c Issues or Events

Not all learning at the movies needs to occur by means of slow, subtle processes of socializa-tion. Attending a specifi c movie can provide viewers with information and possibly change their attitudes concerning specifi c issues. For example, viewing The Insider (1999) might both inform a viewer and instill a negative perception about the tobacco industry. At the

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same time, fi lms about the 2007 fi nancial collapse may inform audiences about chicanery in the fi nancial industry yet leave them unconvinced that avoiding Wall Street for some nobler pursuit is the way to go. Despite their antiheroes’ bad behavior, the movie star glamor and conspicuous consumption on display in fi lms like Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps (2010), Margin Call (2011), Cosmopolis (2012), and Arbitrage (2012) may prove hard for a viewer to resist.

Movies Affect Specifi c Political Behavior, Such as Voting in Elections

A movie whose message contains a specifi c political target might affect the vote in an elec-tion. For example, Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004) or 2016: Obama’s America (2012) might have convinced voters to vote against President George W. Bush or President Barack Obama, respectively. The documentary fi lm The Thin Blue Line (1988) resulted in the exoneration of a man who had been imprisoned for murdering a police offi cer. The documentary West of Memphis (2012) helped release from prison the men known as “the West Memphis three,” who had been convicted of killing three boys in Texas as part of a supposed satanic ritual; their story is also the basis of Atom Egoyan’s feature Devil’s Knot (2013).

Movies Affect the Knowledge and Behavior of Specifi c Groups, Especially Political Elites

Some elected offi cials, for example, cite John Wayne movies as infl uencing their political careers; in Chapter 3 , for example, we discuss a theory that President Ronald Reagan in effect reenacted some of the movie parts he played, including sheriff in a western, while in offi ce. His presidential image then informed the public posturing of George W. Bush and his adoption of cowboy hat, cowboy boots, and ranch backdrops to stake his political identity to the ideological underpinnings of the western much as Reagan had. (Even Hawaii native and Chicago politician Barack Obama has made public appearances in a cowboy hat.)

Movies Spark Public Debate and/or Media Interest in Specifi c Issues

Even a fi lm that is not seen in great numbers by the general public, such as Wag the Dog (1997), may have a tertiary impact on the political system because the mass media or other elites discuss and use its imagery in public discourse, which may eventually fi lter down to other groups, including the general public. Meanwhile, fi lms based on current events, like Zero Dark Thirty ’s portrayal of the hunt for and assassination of Osama bin Laden, percolate into public consciousness when politicians refer to them in political contexts. Senators John McCain, Dianne Feinstein, and Carl Levin all protested the fi lm as “grossly inaccurate and misleading in its suggestion that torture resulted in information that led to the capture.” 49

This is only a partial list of possible means of impact by movies, but it suggests that the col-lective effect of movies may be profound indeed. Several mediating infl uences on the power of movies to affect politics ought to be borne in mind, however.

First, decades of political research teach us that, as a rule, individuals possess consid-erable capacity to screen their own beliefs from outside stimuli such as those presented

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by political messages in movies. 50 A person with a fi rmly established partisan identity, for example, is unlikely to be swayed by the heavy- handed ideological message of Bulworth (1998) or the environmentally concerned look at the energy extraction process known as “fracking” dramatized in Promised Land (2012). It also bears mentioning that many movies (particularly small, independent ones) are not even accessible to many would- be viewers. Film studios put many movies in limited release, meaning that they are seen only in major urban centers or perhaps only in New York and/or Los Angeles.

Moreover, a person with a strongly conservative worldview is probably unlikely to go and see a movie like Bulworth or Promised Land . (After she met with North Vietnamese offi cials and imprisoned American pilots behind enemy lines, an entire generation of Vietnam- era political conservatives swore off Jane Fonda movies.) Thus, attending movies is a self- selected political stimulus. Except perhaps as children, we generally choose the movies we want to see and exclude ourselves from many others. Therefore, many movies with strident political messages may wind up only preaching to the choir of its predetermined supporters. As we have noted, preliminary research suggests people are least susceptible to persua-sion by movies that they expect to be political; they are most open to infl uence when they are least aware of political messaging. Films overtly aligned with a partisan cause or party affi liation would be even less likely to infl uence viewers already resistant to such issues and groups outside the movie theater.

A recent analysis by the New York Times found that the audiences for the liberal docu-mentary Fahrenheit 9/11 and those of the traditional or conservative The Passion of the Christ (2004) were markedly different geographically and demographically. The theaters where Passion audiences were the largest tended to be in suburban settings and dispersed across the country, whereas the biggest 9/11 audiences were located in New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and a few other urban centers. 51 The studios and their distribu-tion networks contribute to this pattern by exhibiting and heavily promoting movies in areas where they think the audience will be the largest. Such a pattern followed the release of the anti- Obama documentary, 2016: Obama’s America , with runs extended in areas where prospective voters favored Republican presidential nominee Mitt Romney and curtailed in “blue” locations where voters were expected to vote Democratic. Similar geographic splits defi ned the presidential elections of 2012. Obama’s fi rmest support occurred in urban and coastal areas, whereas Romney votes tended to come from the suburbs and heartland. 52

Finally, audiences are not monolithic. What little empirical data we have suggest that people experience movies politically in fundamentally different ways. Recent research by Young suggests that moviegoers have different motivations for seeing movies; for example, some just want to kill time while others are trying to keep up with current trends. 53 Stephen-son’s groundbreaking research identifi ed remarkably variable reactions to a short fi lm from the American Cancer Society, reactions that seemed to depend on the viewers’ own experi-ence with cancer. 54 We can therefore expect that different kinds of political movies will have varying effects on different kinds of audiences. Whereas that may seem like a self- evident conclusion, remarkably little is known about which sorts of fi lms are most effi cacious (and why), which types of audiences are most susceptible to which types of fi lm, and so on. For now, we must take it mostly as an article of faith that movies are an important “participant” in our political system in a variety of ways.

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Summary and Implications for the Systematic Study of Film and Politics

With the goal of helping readers to approach the study of fi lm and politics systematically, this chapter has suggested a typology of political fi lms. The typology is based largely on two important dimensions of such fi lms: (1) political content—the extent to which a fi lm refl ects a political context or setting, and (2) political intention—the extent to which fi lmmakers actively seek to impart political or ideological messages. Whereas movies that exhibit a great deal of either dimension tend to be readily identifi able as political fi lms, those with understated—or even totally sublimated—political content or expression pose relatively greater challenges to contemporary students. Several critical approaches to identifying political meaning in less obvious political fi lms were briefl y discussed. The means by which political fi lms may theoretically affect the political system were briefl y explored, along with a series of potentially mediating factors. Finally, much of the study of political fi lm rests on largely untested assumptions about the effects of cultural symbols on the political attitudes and actions of mass audiences. The rather nascent research linking exposure to movies and other media to mass behavior needs to be linked to these often tenuous assumptions.

Notes

1 . For an example of social science research into the effects of television on voting, see Danny Hayes, “Has Television Personalized Voting Behavior?” Political Behavior , 31.2, June 2009, pp. 231–260. doi: http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s11109- 008- 9070- 0. For an example of research into social media and political habits, see Joseph DiGrazia et al., “More Tweets, More Votes: Social Media as a Quantitative Indicator of Political Behavior,” PlosOne , November 27, 2013; http://www.plosone.org/article/info%3Adoi%2F10.1371%2Fjournal.pone.0079449.

2 . Phillip L. Gianos, Politics and Politicians in American Film (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1995), p. 3. 3. Douglas Kellner, “Film Politics and Ideology: Refl ections on Hollywood Film in the Age of Rea-

gan,” www.pages.gseis.ucla.edu/faculty/kellner/essays/fi lmpoliticsideology.pdf, p. 1. 4 . See, for example, Bruce Austin, Immediate Seating: A Look at Movie Audiences (Belmont, CA:

Wadsworth, 1989). 5 . L.D. Butler et al., “The Psychological Impact of Viewing the Film JFK: Emotions, Beliefs, and

Political Behavioral Intentions,” Political Psychology , 1995, vol. 16, no. 2, pp. 237–257. 6 . Todd Adkins, J.J. Castle, “Moving Pictures? Experimental Evidence of Cinematic Infl uence on

Political Attitudes,” Social Science Quarterly . doi: 10.1111/ssqu.12070. 7 . For an example of fi lms about political fi gures classifi ed as biographical fi lms, see Dennis Bing-

ham, Whose Lives Are They Anyway? The Biopic as Contemporary Film Genre (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2010). For examples of political fi lms categorized as biography and thriller fi lms but not as political fi lms, see these fi lm lists: IMDb.com, www.imdb.com/genre/biography, and www.imdb.com/genre/thriller. The popular fi lm reference website IMDb.com does not offi cially feature political fi lms as a genre but provides only links to such lists maintained by users.

8 . David McLellan, Ideology (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), p. 1. 9 . Kellner, p. 3. 10 . Barry Keith Grant, Film Genre Reader IV (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2012). 11 . Library of Congress, Motion Picture & Television Reading Room, www.loc.gov/rr/mopic/

miggen.html#Political. 12 . Steve Neale, Genre and Hollywood (London: Routledge, 2000), pp. 45–46. 13 . Ibid., p. 46. 14 . Roger Ebert, “Dick”, www.rogerebert.com/reviews/dick- 1999. 15 . “Politics Reigns at Golden Globes,” Politico Magazine , www.politico.com/story/2013/01/golden-

globes- politics- 86119.html.

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16 . See, for example, Ian Scott, American Politics in Hollywood Film (Edinburgh: Edinburgh Uni-versity Press, 2011), pp. 12–13. See also Ernest Giglio, Here’s Looking At You: Hollywood, Film and Politics (New York: Peter Lang, 2010), pp. 26–27.

17 . Goldwyn himself sent a few messages. His fi rst fi lm company was publicly committed to “a foundation of intelligence and refi nement,” and it was Goldwyn, after all, who produced Lillian Hellman’s The Little Foxes (1941), a bone- chilling tale of capitalist greed, and The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), a poignant story of the aftermath of war. He also was responsible for The North Star (1943), one of Hollywood’s most blatantly pro- Russian fi lms. Apparently Goldwyn was not so much opposed to messages as ambivalent about them. See Ephraim Katz, The Film Encyclo-pedia (New York: Perigee, 1979), p. 491.

18 . See, for example, Louis Gianetti, Understanding Movies (New York: Prentice Hall, 1996). 19 . “Charlie Wilson’s War—Interview with Tom Hanks,” IndieLondon , www.indielondon.co.uk/

Film- Review/charlie- wilsons- war- tom- hanks- interview. 20 . Kevin Robillard, “Affl eck Says No Politics in ‘Argo,’” Politico Magazine , www.politico.com/

blogs/click/2012/10/affl eck- says- no- politics- in- argo- 138010.html. 21 . James E. Combs, American Political Movies: An Annotated Filmography of Feature Films (New

York: Garland, 1995), p. x. 22 . Roland Barthes, Image- Music- Text (New York: Hill & Wang, 1978), p. 142. 23 . Beverly M. Kelley, Reel Politik: Political Ideologies in ’30s and ’40s Films (Westport, CT:

Praeger, 1998). 24 . Leonard Quart and Albert Auster, Film and Society Since 1945 (Westport, CT: Praeger, 2011), p. 5. 25 . See, for example, the message boards at IMDb.com, “Atlas Shrugged, Part 1,” www.imdb.com/

title/tt0480239/?ref_=sr_2. 26 . Roger Ebert, “Atlas Shrugged, Part 1,” www.rogerebert.com/reviews/atlas- shrugged- 2011. 27 . Alan Scherstuhl, “Atlas Shrugged: Who Is John Galt?” Has the Year’s Funniest Sex Scene,”

http://www.villagevoice.com/2014- 09- 10/fi lm/atlas- shrugged- part- 3/. 28 . Janet Staiger, “Hybrid or Inbred: The Purity Hypothesis and Hollywood Genre History,” Film

Criticism (1997), p. 5. 29 . James Combs and Sarah Combs, Film Propaganda and American Politics: An Analysis and Fil-

mography (New York: Garland, 1994), p. 8. 30 . Steven J. Ross, “The Visual Politics of Class: Silent Film and the Public Sphere,” Film Interna-

tional , http://fi lmint.nu/?p=1735. 31 . See the spot at PBS Newshour, “Origins of the Political Ad: Woodrow Wilson’s 1912 Campaign

Film,” www.pbs.org/newshour/rundown/2012/08/origins- of- the- political- ad- woodrow- wilsons- 1912- campaign- fi lm.html.

32 . Roger Ebert, “Crucible,” www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the- crucible- 1996. 33 . Dan Nimmo and James E. Combs, Mediated Political Realities (New York: Longman, 1983),

p. 105. 34 . Murray Edelman, The Symbolic Uses of Politics (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 1964). 35 . Nimmo and Combs, p. 105. 36 . Gianos, p. xii. 37 . Nimmo and Combs, p. 105. 38 . Dan Leab, “Blacks in American Cinema,” in The Political Companion to American Film , ed.

Gary Crowdus (Chicago: Lakeview Press, 1994), p. 46. 39 . Nimmo and Combs, p. 106. 40 . Ibid., p. 108. 41 . See, for example, Susan Faludi, Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women (New

York: Anchor Books/Doubleday, 1992). 42 . Adilifu Nama, Black Space: Imagining Race in Science Fiction Film (Austin: University of Texas

Press, 2008), pp. 12, 10. 43 . Carol Clover, Men, Women, and Chainsaws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film (Princeton, NJ:

Princeton University Press), pp. 21–65. 44 . Gallup, “Honesty/Ethics in Professions,” www.gallup.com/poll/1654/honesty- ethics- professions.

aspx#1.

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45 . Gallup Politics, “Congress Begins 2013 with 14 percent Approval,” www.gallup.com/poll/159812/congress- begins- 2013- approval.aspx.

46 . Huffi ngtonPost.com, “Congress Approval Rating Lower Than Cockroaches,” www. huffi ngtonpost.com/2013/01/08/congress- approval- rating- nickelback- cockroaches_n_2435601.html.

47 . William S. Cohen and Gary Hart, “TV’s Treatment of Washington—It’s Capital Punishment,” TV Guide , August 24, 1985.

48 . Andy Rooney, “Anything You Say, Senator Ewing,” San Francisco Chronicle , September 29, 1985.

49 . Xan Brooks, “John McCain Criticizes Zero Dark Thirty’s Depiction of Torture,” The Guardian , www.guardian.co.uk/fi lm/2012/dec/20/john- mccain- zero- dark- thirty.

50 . For a succinct summary of the research on the effects of mass media on political behavior, see, for example, Doris A. Graber, Mass Media and American Politics , 6th ed. (Washington, DC: CQ Press, 2001), pp. 195–225, or David A. Paletz, The Media in American Politics: Contents and Consequences (New York: Longman, 1999), pp. 103–113.

51 . Sharon Waxman, “Two Americas of ‘Fahrenheit’ and ‘Passion,’” New York Times , July 13, 2004. 52 . For a geographic breakdown of the 2012 presidential election, see New York Times, “Special Cov-

erage: The 2012 Election,” http://fi vethirtyeight.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/11/06/live- blog- the- 2012- presidential- election/. See also Geography Education, “Geographic Analysis of 2012 Presidential Election,” http://geographyeducation.org/2012/10/09/geographic- analysis- of- 2012- presidential- election/.

53 . Namkung Young, “A Motivational Study of Moviegoers: A Q- Methodological Approach,” Q- Methodology and Theory 4 (1999): 182–207.

54 . William Stephenson, “Applications of Communication Theory: Immediate Experience of Mov-ies,” Operant Subjectivity 1 (1978): 96–116.

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The Making of a Message Film Production and Techniques,

and Political Messages

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Movies can send political messages in many ways, from the most explicit political preach-ing on view in a satire like Bulworth to far more subtle means involving techniques of fi lmmaking that most viewers take for granted. For example, the setting, point- of- view cinematography, and costuming in the beginning of the war fi lm The Hurt Locker (2009) visually compare the rubble- strewn street in Iraq (actually Jordan) to the pocked surface of the moon, U.S. soldiers to astronauts, and Iraqis to aliens as an automated bomb detonator crawls the rough and dusty street like a mechanical rover exploring the moon. Politically, the emphasis on the foreignness of the terrain suggests a war detached from the Ameri-can public that may as well be taking place on another planet. This chapter analyzes how each step in the fi lmmaking process—from conception of the idea for a fi lm to its release (and even thereafter)—can achieve the effect of political messaging to an audience. Politi-cal messages may be present in fi lms as the result of either intention by the fi lm’s creator or largely unintended refl ections of political and social realities, or perhaps both. In this discussion, we focus primarily on intentional messages.

The Filmmaking Process

Creating a popular motion picture in the current era is an expensive, time- consuming pro-cess that can involve (literally) a cast of thousands. In this section, we analyze the fi lm production process into a series of steps and isolate the possible contribution each step can make to the political impact of a fi lm. The steps we identify are “ideal” ones that in fact may occur in combination with one another and/or in different sequences. For example, the conception of a movie—the very idea of creating it—may likely coincide with (or even precede if the fi lm is an adaptation) the creation of the basic story that the movie will tell. And although promotion is relegated to one of the fi nal steps in the process, it is frequently created and implemented long before a fi lm is completed, as is evident when a movie trailer (a promotional short that precedes a movie) is shown months or even more than a year before a fi lm is seen in the theater. But breaking the process into its constituent parts ena-bles us to see how individual production decisions can create or affect political messages in fi lms. It also provides an opportunity to explore the technical aspects of fi lmmaking (and the accompanying terminology) that are of the greatest relevance to the study of politics and fi lm.

Conception

“Conception” refers to the idea of making a fi lm. In current American cinema, the ideas for movies can originate in a number of ways. Some fi lms are the creation of individuals whose vision (and access to the necessary resources) enables them to fashion a very personal or individualized statement. Many other fi lms are created by means of a complicated process involving large studios and teams of writers and other production personnel. All things being equal, smaller (i.e., less expensive) fi lms that originate in an individual artistic vision are more likely to contain overt and/or intentional political messages than are big- budget, major- studio projects. With the caveat that the fi lmmaking process and movie industry have changed in signifi cant ways since the advent of the so- called digital revolution, it is still often the case that most popular fi lms fall into the latter category, and we will focus on these fi lms in analyzing the fi lmmaking process.

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THE MAKING OF A MESSAGE

Production

Movie production is an extremely important, yet often unclear aspect of moviemaking. There is no specifi c list of tasks, responsibilities, or roles that is necessarily undertaken by a movie producer. However, a fi lm producer is generally the fi rst person (beyond a screenwriter or other story source) professionally involved with a fi lm project. Among the activities gener-ally associated with fi lm producers are the following:

• Identifying and hiring the major creative talents who will work on the fi lm (the director, screenwriter, cinematographer, costumer, art director, casting director, editor, major stars, and so forth).

• Maintaining a presence during the shooting of a movie to help with the practical chal-lenges involved in completion of a fi lm project. (This role may or may not create confl icts with the movie director.)

• Serving as the individual regarded by the studio or production company as the ultimate authority on the project who has ultimate responsibility for its successful completion. (Again, such a role may lead to confusion or confl ict with that of the fi lm’s director.)

However, the major and overarching role of a movie’s producer is to ensure its fi nan-cial viability. This person supervises a production’s logistics, including scheduling, raising funds, overseeing the budgeting process, hiring key personnel, and answering to the studio or production company when there are problems. 1 The focus of fi lm production can thus be said to be the commercial aspects of a project rather than the artistic—which tend to be the province of fi lm direction . Movies are produced in order to make money, and their content is strongly infl uenced by economics. Although state and local lawmakers from Oklahoma to New York do use tax incentives to lure fi lmmakers to make movies on their home turf, and unlike the national cinemas of Australia and Canada, U.S. fi lmmakers receive no federal government subsidies.

Movies are business ventures and expensive ones at that. The production costs alone of a feature fi lm averaged just $400,000 in 1941; by 1985, the fi gure was more than $12 mil-lion. 2 The average overall cost of major studio movies rose from about $42 million in 1995 to $78 million in 2011. 3 Since 2005, the biggest budgeted Hollywood studio fi lms averaged between $200 and $300 million. 4 Production costs are only part of the picture. In 2007, the average advertising and promotion costs for a studio picture reached $36 million, and studio executives estimate that, despite pressure to scale back, marketing costs have only risen since then. 5 Reuters explains the cost ratio between production and marketing costs this way: for every dollar spent on producing a major fi lm, the studios spend between 51 and 58 cents to release and market it in the United States and Canada. This means the aver-age 2009 release had to gross $186 million to recoup production and domestic release costs alone—a tall order. 6

All this means high fi nance. The big studios used to provide this money and often still do, but banks, insurance companies, corporate sponsorships, and individual investors are now more prominently involved than ever before. These institutions and people tend to be conservative—politically and economically—and they invest accordingly.

Nevertheless, depending upon the context of their involvement, movie producers can help to shape political content. Paramount to understanding how that infl uence can occur

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is realizing, as Gianos reminds us, that fi lms are a commodity produced to make money. 7 This profi t- making motive—in an endeavor whose production costs may reach hundreds of millions of dollars—tends to push producers in certain ways. Perhaps most important, the profi t motive tends to cause producers to err on the side of caution when making movies. Political controversy and emphatic political sentiment, although not inevitably anathema for a movie’s bottom line, risk alienating ticket- buyers aligned on the other side of an issue, a chance many producers seek to avoid. Hiring a director with a known political agenda, for example, might be typically eschewed in favor of a safer choice. Scripts may be toned down or fl at- out rejected for their potential political sensitivity. The release of movies may be timed according to their relevance to current political events. For example, the Arnold Schwarzenegger action vehicle Collateral Damage (2001), about terrorist attacks, saw its release date delayed after the actual attacks on 9/11 in 2001. Steven Spielberg deliberately scheduled the release of Lincoln after the 2012 presidential election lest it be perceived and possibly rejected as an endorsement of the incumbent. In an unprecedented, far more contro-versial and potentially damaging collision between politics and Hollywood, Sony Pictures pulled from release the satiric The Interview (2014) in response to threats from hackers linked to North Korea, the object of the fi lm’s humor. Actors with safe images (e.g., Tom Hanks) may be favored over those with outspoken political beliefs or images (e.g., Jane Fonda, dubbed “Hanoi Jane,” in the 1970s).

The conservative orientation of investors is widely believed to have increased since the 1960s as the corporate moneymen took over and the power of the studios declined, but, in fact, the collapse of the studio system, as well as the increased access to high- quality digital technology, has made it easier for independent fi lmmakers to develop political projects. They still need lots of money, which means fi nding investors. Some artists solve this prob-lem by starting their own production companies and investing themselves. Actor- director Clint Eastwood has Malpaso, his long- time stock production company that allows him to work with the same crew from fi lm to fi lm. Movie stars from Sandra Bullock to Zac Efron to Queen Latifah have their own production companies and produce their own headlin-ing projects as well as fi lms in which they do not appear. For example, Brad Pitt’s Plan B Entertainment produced the Julia Roberts vehicle Eat, Pray, Love (2010), co- starring Javier Bardem, not Pitt. Small investors also have become more important, and cable television and digital technology, including DVDs and streaming fi lms on computer, have provided new outlets and new investors.

Recent well- received political fi lm projects appeared not as traditional theatrical releases but on cable and via the DVD- by- mail and on- demand Internet streaming media company Netfl ix. Recount (2010), based on the retabulation in Florida after the 2000 U.S. presidential election, and the Golden Globe–winning Game Change (2012), based on the 2008 election campaign, were both produced and distributed by premium cable channel HBO. Described by The New Yorker as “dark, expertly directed and acted, and about fi ve times better than the average Hollywood fi lm,” House of Cards (2013), a political thriller starring Kevin Spacey, was the fi rst show not simply distributed but also made by Netfl ix. 8 The company made history by releasing all thirteen episodes for streaming on the same day to capital-ize on the recent phenomenon of the movie- like, “binge” viewing made possible by the release of television episodes online and on DVD. That a political story would both form the spine of such innovative programming and receive vaunted critical praise says something unprecedented about the current appetite for and interest in producing politically themed

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entertainment in the twenty- fi rst century. (This trend toward the political will not go unno-ticed by Hollywood.)

Despite the decreased cost of high- quality cameras and the increase in kinds of viewing platforms, independent fi lmmakers still need the studios at least to some extent for both investment and distribution—a relationship observers have dubbed “Indiewood”—but even the studios have changed since their heyday from the 1930s to the 1950s. Would any of the old studios, except perhaps Warner Brothers, have laid out $52 million for Reds (1981)? Paramount did—under the corporate ownership of Gulf and Western. The conglomerate thought the fi lm would make money so it was willing to invest, even if it did not endorse the fi lm’s politics, just as other studios invested in Missing (1982) and The Killing Fields (1984). “Hollywood has nothing against message fi lms as long as they make money,” said director John Frankenheimer in 1984. “You could get The Manchurian Candidate made today— provided you had Jack Nicholson in the Sinatra role and Rob Lowe playing Ray-mond Shaw.” 9 Frankenheimer proved remarkably prescient: in 2004 Paramount produced a remake of the noted political thriller—vastly inferior to the original—with bankable stars Denzel Washington and Meryl Streep. More recently, fi lm mogul Harvey Weinstein, who famously picked up Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004) for distribution when Disney decided it was too controversial, declared that movies and politics had “converged,” while in the fall of 2011 the New York Times predicted that “social media, an increasingly robust circuit of festivals and private screening events, and digitally driven distribution systems . . . are creating an environment in which the right movie, at the right time, could play a notable role in a cam-paign.” 10 It would be hard to point out any fi lm that actually did alter the 2012 presidential campaign’s trajectory—unless we count a waiter’s covert recording of Mitt Romney at a fund- raiser complaining about the 47 percent of Americans he claimed were dependent on government and therefore in the bag for Obama. A heightened relationship between fi lms and the election process, however, did distinguish the movies from 2010 on from those of previous decades.

Whereas this discussion might lead us to assume that movie production is somehow biased toward fi lms espousing a conservative, patriotic, and even nationalistic viewpoint, there is by no means agreement on that point among fi lm industry observers. Conservative critics, like Michael Medved, in fact claim the opposite: that Hollywood producers favor fi lms that denigrate so- called traditional American values. Medved wrote in Hollywood vs. America : “Americans are passionately patriotic, and consider themselves enormously lucky to live here; but Hollywood conveys a view of the nation’s history, future, and major insti-tutions that is dark, cynical, and often nightmarish.” Medved’s book goes on to assert that movies frequently attack mainstream religion, promote promiscuity, malign the institution of marriage, encourage foul language and violence, and generally “bash America.” 11

Conservatives have also argued that Hollywood children’s movies contain “left- wing propaganda” and cite Cars 2 (2011), Monsters vs. Aliens (2009), and The Muppets (2011) for their vilifi cation of traditional politically conservative leaders like military offi cers and oil executives. “Children should be off- base for the industry’s thought police,” laments one critic, but “. . . no such luck.” 12 Children’s movies, however, are like most Hollywood fare, even those with popular liberal targets like greedy CEOs or ruthless fi nanciers. American fi lms of various genres tend to celebrate the power of the individual to overcome any obsta-cle and emphasize the worth of the one over the struggle of the many. By movie’s end they neatly restore or erase any disruption in the sociopolitical order so that moviegoers leave

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satisfi ed with life more or less as it is. And satisfaction with the status quo and valorized individualism are inherently more conservative values than liberal.

This kind of celebration of the status quo inspires the romantic comedy Maid in Man-hattan (2002), starring Jennifer Lopez as Marisa, a single mother and Puerto Rican hotel maid in a star- crossed romance with Ralph Fiennes’s Christopher Marshall, a blue- blooded Republican senatorial candidate who mistakes her for a wealthy socialite. Following a Cin-derella storyline right down to Marisa fl eeing the ball in heels and borrowed diamonds with Christopher in earnest pursuit, the fi lm rewards Marisa’s hard work as a hotel maid with a promotion that takes her away from her service worker friends and puts her into a manage-ment position. Meanwhile Marshall is humanized by learning a few politically palatable lessons about immigrant communities and the working class. He thus wins the election and Marisa, pulling her to his level to live happily ever after. Initially, the fi lm supports the soli-darity of the working- class immigrant community, but by its fairy- tale conclusion the unity of the many gives way to celebration for the socioeconomic success of the one, Marisa. Trained in these kinds of ideologically conservative narrative patterns, moviegoers would not expect the fi lm to end any other way.

Most critics and scholars would agree that most movies are indeed produced on the basis of their ability to make money for their investors. Whether that motive drives them toward a particular ideological message in their fi lms—other than the very general demand that indi-vidualism trump all competing political ideologies—is debatable. Clearly, however, fi lms can be vehicles for all kinds of political messages, and in many cases the content of that message will be in the eyes of the beholder.

The fi lm industry appears as a whole to be at best ambivalent about investing in political fi lms. Directors from D.W. Griffi th ( The Birth of a Nation , 1915; Intolerance , 1916) and King Vidor ( The Big Parade , 1925; The Crowd , 1928; Our Daily Bread , 1934) in the early days to Costa- Gavras ( Missing , 1982; Betrayed , 1988; Music Box , 1989; Capital , 2013), Oliver Stone ( Salvador , 1986; Wall Street , 1987; Natural Born Killers , 1994; World Trade Center , 2006) and George Clooney ( Good Night and Good Luck , 2005; The Ides of March , 2011; Monuments Men , 2014) today, along with some studios, producers, writers, and stars, have defi ed the Goldwyn rule frequently and fl agrantly. At least a few movies with political messages are made every year, and some periods, such as the 1930s and the late 1970s, and again since 2000, have seen higher rates of production. Such movies generally get more than their fair share of recognition: witness the success of Platoon in 1986 or Argo and Lincoln in 2012. Hollywood likes to congratulate itself by giving an occasional Academy Award nomination, and sometimes even the Oscar itself, to a fi lm that at least pretends to have a message. Milk (2008) presents such a case. Awarded Oscars for best lead actor and original screenplay, Milk is based on the real- life and assassination of activist Harvey Milk, who cru-saded for gay rights and became California’s fi rst openly gay elected offi cial in the 1970s. A year later, the soldier’s- eye view of the politically divisive Iraq war, The Hurt Locker , won multiple Academy Awards, including Best Picture, in a head- to- head contest with box offi ce smash Avatar , a fi lm widely interpreted and debated as both an environmentalist warning cry and a colonialist fable. Critics may give political fi lms a rough ride, but they pay atten-tion to them and regard them as “important works.” And contrary to conventional wisdom, audiences do not ignore political fi lms. Although message movies hardly ever rank as block-busters, many have actually turned a handsome profi t. So producers clearly do not reject political fi lms out of hand.

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Indeed, it is not only political fi lms that fi lmmakers are leery of handling. Film critic Stephen Holden recently observed that Hollywood is reluctant to make fi lms with any kind of serious, adult- oriented content. 13 The number of vacuous big- budget movies aimed at what is often seen as a key demographic group—teenagers—seems to far outnumber serious movies of any kind. Or as one critic recently put it, “Hollywood has become an institution that is more interested in launching the next rubberized action fi gure than in making the next interesting movie.” 14 Recent cartoon- based franchises with fast food tie- ins ( Iron Man , Spiderman , and The Transformers ) make the point.

Screenplay and Story

Probably the most obvious way fi lms send political messages is via the screenplay, which prescribes the basic content of a movie: its subject matter, characters, and plotting. As we have noted, American movies are noteworthy for their general tendency to avoid overtly political subject matter. As Gianos notes succinctly, “the conventional wisdom of the indus-try is that political subjects are to be avoided.” According to Gianos, therefore, a primary message transmitted by the fi lm industry as a whole is that “politics is neither interesting nor important.” 15 At least, political themes are interesting and important, the movies seem to say, only when supplying the backdrop to other, more appealing themes like romance. Of course, some movies with overt political content and themes are made, but on the whole, more mov-ies with other kinds of political messages are seen by the general public.

The words or dialogue may be even more important in political fi lms than in other mov-ies. Politics itself is a medium of words, so more is spoken in these fi lms and what is said is given greater weight. In the case of All the President’s Men , the phrase “non- denial denial” memorably refers to politicians’ penchant to answer direct questions with disavowals that crumble under logical scrutiny. Meanwhile Deep Throat’s admonition to Bob Woodward to “follow the money” has buried itself so permanently into American political consciousness that it gets exhumed with almost every new scandal. Syriana (2005) provides this delectably quotable rant from a sleazy Texas lawmaker: “Corruption? Corruption is government intru-sion into market effi ciencies in the form of regulations. That’s Milton Friedman. He got a goddamn Nobel Prize. . . . Corruption is why you and I are prancing around in here instead of fi ghting over scraps of meat out in the streets. Corruption is why we win.” If too much is said, however, the movies become static and boring or, worse, obvious, broadcasting the message heavy- handedly and thereby subverting it. On the other hand, if a movie is too sub-tle, the message might be missed altogether. Courtroom scenes provide the template for this tightrope walk. Since their setup demands direct addresses to judges and juries spelling out in no uncertain terms a cause or case, the chance for incisive language and genuine drama is high—but so is the risk for overkill. This balance is demonstrated in Al Pacino’s role as a defense lawyer in his climactic confrontation defending a guilty judge to a corrupt judge in the crime drama . . . And Justice For All (1979). “You’re out of order! You’re out of order! The whole trial is out of order! You’re supposed to stand for somethin’! You’re supposed to protect people! But instead you rape and murder them!” These lines and a young Pacino’s passionate delivery provide fertile ground for parody. At the same time they light a fi re in the audience by “speaking truth to power,” showing one man avenging American faith in the political ideal that justice is blind. Nonetheless, research suggests that movies are most effective when they let us reach our own conclusions or at least let us think we have.

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Subject Matter/Genre

“Genre” refers to a class of fi lms with conventional settings, characters, and plots. Among the most commonly recognized fi lm genres are horror movies, romantic comedies, and sci-ence fi ction. We have observed earlier that political fi lms do not seem to constitute a genre or “type” of movie unto themselves. But other genres do tend to be associated with certain kinds of political messages.

Perhaps the oldest and most commonly invoked genre is the American western. The cen-tral plot of the classic western fi lm is the struggle to maintain law and order on the frontier in a fast- paced action story. Good and evil are generally represented in stark contrast, and as a rule, the good guys wearing the white hats emerge victorious. Many early westerns affi rm the basic goodness of early America while depicting Native Americans as savages whose defeat was just and appropriate. Countless variations on the basic western have been produced, making it a quintessential American genre that tends to refl ect “American values” widely construed.

However, genres are subject to mutation over time. In the case of the western, for exam-ple, recent efforts tend to downplay the essential goodness of American settlers and cowboys and instead explore the tragic plight of Native Americans. Dances with Wolves (1990) was a hugely popular movie that won director and star Kevin Costner an Academy Award and fea-tured a sympathetic perspective on Native Americans. Yet the more things in movies change, the more they stay the same: Dances with Wolves also featured a white protagonist who was able to master the nobly portrayed native culture. One could argue that the movie co- opts Native Americans into the white world. Thus the fi lm does not really undermine the tra-ditional values of the western genre. A variation on the same theme is present in The Last Samurai (2003), wherein an American soldier from the frontier era is sent to Japan, masters the art and culture of the samurai, and succeeds in preserving it on behalf of the Japanese. Once again, the message is not so much that the foreign culture is venerable but that an American can master it against the forces of evil. James Cameron’s 3- D, sci- fi blockbuster Avatar (2009) prompted similar charges of exploitation in the guise of cultural sensitivity. One writer diagnosed it as a classic story of colonialism in which “the natives must rely on the white anthropologist to become fully human.” 16 Another critic claimed that Avatar “is a fantasy specifi cally for white people living with a heavy dose of liberal guilt. And it is one that, ultimately, marginalizes indigenous peoples and affi rms white supremacy.” 17 Thus, even in the science fi ction genre, Hollywood’s attempts to reposition native culture to the moral center give way, however unintentionally, to generic assumptions about the inherent superior-ity of those characters most identifi ed with the forces endangering that same culture. 18

Directed by Quentin Tarantino, Django Unchained (2012) revises the western genre in a completely different fashion, taking its setting, iconography—horses, cowboy hats, boots, rifl es, saloons—and theme of justice versus revenge and relocating all of it to the slavery- era South. Jamie Foxx plays Django, the freed or “unchained” slave of the title. Physically indomitable and keenly trained by the German man who buys his freedom—a facet of the story some critics point to as yet another example of white paternalism—Django metes out justice at the end of a gun. The opposite of an Uncle Tom, he avenges dehumanized, tor-tured slaves and with his black cowboy hat and silent demeanor overturns the western genre convention that puts white hats on white cowboys and lets them get the best of marauding Indians and snarling bank robbers.

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Django Unchained followed on the thematic heels of Tarantino’s popular World War II historical revenge fantasy, Inglorious Basterds (2009), about a group of Jewish U.S. sol-diers planning to assassinate Nazis. Tarantino counts on audience familiarity with generic elements of the western and the combat war fi lm, respectively, only to subvert those expec-tations, occasionally to comic and certainly ironic effect. Reinvigorating typical cues by scrambling them, each fi lm rebrands its genre’s victims as vanquishing heroes.

Nicholas Ray’s cult classic Johnny Guitar (1954) and the lesser- known The Ballad of Little Jo (1993) are examples of westerns that disrupt the genre’s typical gender roles. Johnny Guitar slings a holster on Joan Crawford’s female saloon owner, Vienna, and makes her the face of pioneer independence and rebellion against injustice and small- town hypoc-risy. Her struggle has been read as a metaphor for the era’s Hollywood ban on working with supposed Communist sympathizers, replete with a character tortured to name Vienna for a crime she did not commit. Based on a true story, The Ballad of Little Jo goes even further in overturning gender stereotypes, turning Josephine into “Jo,” a woman passing as a man in a grim, nineteenth- century mining town. Historical and generic revisionism breathes new life into narrative patterns as old as fi ction fi lm itself and, to greater or lesser success, upends the ideological scaffolding on which the western stands.

Movie Conventions

Movies of any genre tend to follow time- proven conventions to which audiences have grown accustomed. With respect to movies with overtly political content, Gianos identifi es four such conventions, each of which serves to minimize the political confl ict of storylines that might otherwise arouse controversy. 19

Personalization

Movies with political subject matter frequently focus on the individual drama of politically active roles, which tends to make them more palatable to mass audiences. The Vietnam

Jamie Foxx plays the title character and Christoph Walz his partner in the slavery revenge fantasy and revisionist western Django Unchained (2012).

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War classic The Deer Hunter (1978) involves the viewer in the drama of a group of friends enmeshed in the war, thus tending to avoid overt commentary about the war itself. Rendition (2007) dramatizes the questionable morality of the “war on terror” by showing the illicit seizure of a wrongly accused, handsome Egyptian living in the United States and happily married to a blonde American woman, pregnant with their second child.

Sugarcoating

Another frequent approach is to cover potentially strong political content with other genres. Gianos notes that Reds (1981), which concerns an American journalist who is a Communist sympathizer, is presented largely as a love story. Conspiracy Theory (1997) and Enemy of the State (1998) redirect content dealing with concerns about Orwellian government into more conventional thrillers, while Side Effects (2013) begins as a damning look at the cozy relationship between psychiatrists and the pharmaceutical industry and ends as a more typi-cal whodunit.

“The Unlabeled Bottle”

By this phrase, Gianos is referring to the tendency for political movies to use extremely generic terms to defuse possible political controversy. He notes that in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) no party (or ideological) labels are provided, allowing the audience to read its own interpretation into the story. Indeed, very few movies with politicians in key roles—particularly fi ctional movies about presidents, such as The American President (1995), Independence Day (1996), and Dave (1993)—provide party labels. Likewise, darker fi lms like Syriana (2005) and Zero Dark Thirty (2012) do little to distinguish between Dem-ocratic and Republican administrations.

Ambivalence

Many fi lms present both sides of a political confl ict with an even hand, thus defl ating criti-cism of favoritism toward a particular side or cause and possible bad publicity. Gianos notes that director Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing (1989) presents a case for both violence and nonviolence in racial confl ict; Citizen Ruth (1996) lampoons both extremities of the abortion debate in a way that favors neither side, while The Hurt Locker (2009) attempts to stake out neutral territory by attaching itself to the point of view of soldiers ambivalent about but not politically motivated by the Iraq war.

Additionally, the requirement to entertain, the focus on individuals, and the need to solve problems by the end of the movie can result in oversimplifi cation, which is why American political fi lms almost invariably deal with only one problem at a time. Even a single issue may be simplifi ed so much that the outcome is obvious. In Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967), for example, the solution is so readily apparent that white viewers’ racist attitudes are not really challenged: of course their daughters could marry nice black doctors like Sidney Poitier. Red Dawn (1984, 2012) and Rambo (1985) leave us no options either. The villains of such movies—whether they are racists, Communists, bureaucrats, or businessmen—are so broadly caricatured that we have no choice but to reject them, and we certainly cannot identify

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with them. More recently, The Kingdom (2007) tackled the ideological complexity of the twenty- fi rst century “war on terror” and turned it into what critic A.O. Scott dubs a “whodunit/blow- ’em- up.” In Scott’s view, “The result is a slick, brutishly effective genre movie: ‘Syriana’ for dummies. Which is not entirely a put- down. Intricate, earnest puzzles have their place in the movie cosmos, but so do lean, linear stories with clearly defi ned villains and heroes and lots of explosions.” 20 In other words, no topic is so sacred or multifaceted that Hollywood cannot make it entertaining—usually in ways we have come both to expect and reward.

Direction

A movie’s director is generally considered the single most important contributor to a movie’s fi nal artistic impact and the one with the most control over the fi nal product. The actual duties of the director vary from fi lm to fi lm (and perhaps overlap with those of the pro-ducer, as discussed earlier). Film directors are usually responsible for not only “directing” the actors (à la a stage director) but also determining the many visual and aural aspects of a movie, including the choice of shots, camera angles, lighting, light fi lters, composition, and editing. Directors also usually make major costume and set- design decisions. 21

In Hollywood’s classic era, moviemaking was purportedly a group or studio endeavor with each piece of the machinery—screenwriter, producer, director, contracted stars—clicking into place to create the product. Since the breakup of the studio system, fi lm has increasingly become the artistic province of the director. This is especially true of indepen-dently produced fi lms like those directed by Woody Allen or Spike Lee. One reason for this evolving view of the director as playing a commanding role was the infl uence of French fi lm theorists of the 1950s, whose “auteur” theory prescribed the director as the true “author” of a fi lm. The French theorists proposed that

the greatest movies are dominated by the personal vision of the director. A fi lmmaker’s signature can be perceived through an examination of his or her total output, which is char-acterized by a unity of theme and style. The [screen] writer’s contribution is less important than the director’s, because subject matter is artistically neutral. The director dominates the treatment, provided he or she is a strong director or auteur . 22

Certainly the best- known explicitly political American fi lms are almost always the handi-work of a specifi c director. Directors such as John Sayles, Oliver Stone, Spike Lee, and Robert Redford espouse a well- known political agenda that is frequently evident in their fi lms. While less prolifi c at this point, the growing bodies of work by the Hughes Brothers (Allen and Albert), Ben Affl eck, Lee Daniels, Kathryn Bigelow, and George Clooney sug-gest they may belong in the coterie of political directors as well. Even directors with a less obvious interest in political themes, such as Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorsese, have created fi lms with interesting political implications. Critics of auteur theory point out that moviemaking is undoubtedly a group effort no matter how great the clout of the director and that at the same time many movies with “no- name” directors are nevertheless excellent fi lms. Michael Curtiz, who directed the World War II classic Casablanca (1942), had no distinctive style or personal vision, yet he created many excellent movies. 23 However, aver-age big- studio directors, even though they may create fi lms with a distinctive style, seem more likely to refl ect political reality than to comment on it intentionally. This adherence

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to a legible yet broadly palatable or even innocuous politics is no less true for the current era of deep political cynicism than for the relatively more optimistic era of Frank Capra or John Ford. For example, The Campaign (2012), a mostly silly satire released in the midst of the 2012 presidential campaign, paints both candidates as avaricious, their greed for power evenly matched. The satire’s real aim is the seemingly limitless amount of anonymous money allowed, even invited, by campaign fi nance laws.

Peter Biskind notes that the same director can send different kinds of messages over the course of a career, and liberal directors can work with conservative writers and producers, and vice versa: “Particular directors are often able to put their stamp on their work, intention-ally insert messages into their movies. But these are exceptions, and it often happens that the fi lms of an individual director, even one with a strong directorial personality, convey different ideologies.” 24

Regardless of political messages, fi lms tend to fall between the extremes represented by two major approaches to direction: realism and formalism. Realism is a fi lmmaking style that seeks to imitate or duplicate reality. This is typically achieved by means of an empha-sis on authentic locations and a minimal amount of fi lm editing. Formalism, by contrast, emphasizes aesthetic forms and symbols rather than objective reality. Formalist fi lms tend to distort their representation of reality in a variety of ways—often by means of unusual set designs, lighting techniques, and aggressive fi lm editing. It is important to emphasize that realism, like formalism, is still just a style, an effect of formal fi lmmaking decisions. Another way to put it is that realism and formalism exist on the same spectrum of fi lmmaking design. Despite how inclined audiences may be to praise a fi lm for seeming so “real,” realism, too, constitutes an aesthetic vision rather than an absolute value or “the truth.”

Neither realism nor formalism necessarily connotes a political emphasis in fi lmmaking, and either approach could conceivably be used to create a fi lm with a particular sort of political message. Moreover, many Hollywood fi lms combine the two approaches to create a smooth, almost transparent style of direction that may be diffi cult to discern at all. But when directors emphasize a realistic or formalistic approach or technique, it provides viewers with clues as to the kind of political message, if any, that the fi lm seeks to convey. For example, in Apocalypse Now (1979), director Francis Ford Coppola used a variety of formalistic techniques, includ-ing light fi lters and music, to dramatize the horror of war in Vietnam. Other directors, such as Oliver Stone in Platoon (1986), Steven Spielberg in Saving Private Ryan (1998), and Kathryn Bigelow in The Hurt Locker used realistic techniques to achieve a similar message.

The nature of movies as an art form also may moderate their politics as much as the directors. Writers and other collaborators in fi lmmaking vigorously dispute the auteur notion of the all- powerful director. “It sure as shit isn’t true in Hollywood,” declares screenwriter William Goldman. “Movies,” he insists, “are a group endeavor.” 25 More recently, in a New York Times article titled “Now Playing: Auteur vs. Auteur,” novelist- screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga says, “When they say it’s an auteur fi lm, I say auteurs fi lm. I have always been against the ‘fi lm by’ credit on a movie. It’s a collaborative process and it deserves several authors.” 26 Directors may be central fi gures and the notion of their role as a fi lm’s author may help to brand a fi lm to sell more tickets, but many creative people, including writers, produc-ers, cinematographers, editors, designers, and actors, contribute to the fi nal shape of a fi lm. The politics of these individuals may differ, and their perceptions of what audiences want to see, need to be told, or will accept also may vary. Out of the confl ict of these differing biases and perceptions comes the movie.

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The following elements and sub- elements of fi lm direction also play a role in sending political messages; each also may be used in a way that is realistic or formalistic.

Titles

Movie titles can be used to prepare the audience for a political message. A frequent device is the use of “typewriter” fonts that suggest a newspaper exposé of a given topic, such as those used in All the President’s Men (1976) to highlight the role of journalists in bringing the Watergate scandal to light or in Missing (1982), an exposé of CIA involvement in foreign affairs. More fanciful titles may cue the audience to suspend any political critique of the proceedings, although some directors choose credits that provide an ironic contrast to the serious political nature of their fi lm. Far From Heaven (2002) is about racism and homo-phobia in 1950s Connecticut, but opens with a drifting title sequence suggesting a standard melodrama about lost romance.

Sound and Dialogue

Like direction generally, sound in fi lms can emphasize a realistic or formalistic approach, or both. In the opening title sequence to All the President’s Men , the stark sound of the typewriter keys slamming into the white page ring out like gunshots. In isolation from any other sound and amplifi ed, the realistic sound of a typewriter takes on a formalist quality. Not only is the pen mightier than the sword in politics, the sequence says, but the journalist’s typewriter is the political equivalent of a gangster’s gun. Several directors have emphasized realistic sound to help defi ne their fi lmmaking style and political emphases. Robert Altman, known for fi lms such as Nashville (1975) and a dark satire about Hollywood called The Player (1992), is also known for a signature sound design with characters speaking in over-lapping dialogue. In Nashville the clutter of voices is used to express the political anarchy that the fi lm dramatizes, while in The Player competing voices represent a cynical industry where no one really listens to anyone but himself. In Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversa-tion (1974), a multilayered soundtrack of voices helps convey an atmosphere of paranoia and suspicion in the work of an eavesdropping spy. (The bugging and tape recording eerily anticipated the Watergate scandal that exploded soon after the fi lm’s release.)

Spike Lee’s overlooked but provocative take on identity politics and black fatherhood, She Hate Me (2004), uses a lack of sound, including dialogue, to mark key moments when a lesser fi lmmaker would have forced lines or used music to cue laughter. Instead, silence and a missing musical score underline the atypical and inventive directional cues that characterize much of this fi lm about a whistleblower on corporate malfeasance who gets fi red and turns to impregnating lesbians for profi t. Preposterous on the face of it, She Hate Me is a mash- up of clichéd characters in melodramatic situations tipping toward absurdity, a romantic comedy that is mostly neither. As Roger Ebert puts it, Lee’s fi lm defi es “pious liberal horror about such concepts as the inexhaustible black stud, and lesbians who respond on cue to sex with a man—and instead of skewering them, which would be the easy thing to do, fl aunts them.” Lee’s strategic deployment of silence and ambient (i.e., natural) sound complements what Ebert fi nds “audacious and recklessly risky” about this unusual fi lm. 27

Kathryn Bigelow’s thriller Blue Steel (1989) is about a female rookie cop pursued roman-tically by an obsessed killer. The sound design layers droning, synthesized music with

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alternately emphasized and downplayed ambient sounds—bullets loaded into a gun’s cham-ber, traffi c whizzing by, the din of a restaurant. The formal effect creates tension, yet also adds a mythic element to the fi lm’s consuming gender politics. A fairy- tale quality emerges amid the gruesome violence that the fi lm says is the result of a woman in uniform carrying a gun strapped to her body, both symbolizing and enforcing the law. 28 Bigelow’s politically controversial Zero Dark Thirty (2012) opens from an obscured point of audition—the audi-tory corollary to point- of- view camerawork. While Blue Steel opens from an obscured point of view—we know we are in someone’s shoes as we follow screams down a darkly lit hallway, we just do not know whose— Zero Dark Thirty opens on a black screen and the sound of overlapping voices. Only gradually do we decipher that we are hearing the fright-ened calls for help from people trapped inside the targets of attack on 9/11. The tangle of voices falls away, leaving only a desperate conversation between a woman inside a doomed tower and an emergency dispatcher, helpless to reassure her. Separating out sound from the familiar images of the attack makes the terror of that decade- old day fresh and terrifying all over again. That unsettling effect of sound newly anguishes viewers and prepares them for the relentless search for Osama bin Laden to follow. Critics charged it also appeared to justify using torture to fi nd him. Wrote Naomi Wolf, “ Zero Dark Thirty is a gorgeously shot, two- hour ad for keeping intelligence agents who committed crimes against Guantánamo prisoners out of jail.” 29

Music

Two kinds of music are usually used in movies: original music scored and played expressly for a particular fi lm, and soundtrack music, which is drawn from existing music. Either form of music can be played in the foreground or the background of a particular scene, and either can transmit political messages. Beginning with the opening credits, serious (frequently classical) music can cue the audience to prepare for a serious political message, whereas breezy or jazzy music connotes lighter fare.

The soundtrack tells us who the good guys and bad guys are. Patriotic tunes arouse our emotions, and martial music sets the adrenaline fl owing, building excitement. When the campaign catches on in The Candidate (1972), so does the music. We know something is happening and we are caught up in it. Music can communicate dread, too. Along with light-ing effects, camera angles, and editing, chilling, strategically timed minimalistic music gives thriller qualities to All the President’s Men (1976) and to a fi lm that in many ways stands as homage to it, State of Play (2009).

Often directors of popular movies use soundtracks composed of popular music to enhance the mood they seek to create in a particular scene. Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1979) brilliantly juxtaposes a scene of American soldiers waterskiing with the Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” to dramatize the decadence and pointlessness of the Vietnam War. Altman’s Nashville , which climaxes with a political assassination, ends with a crowd singing along to “It Don’t Worry Me,” a hymn to apathy and alienation that reinforces the fi lm’s theme. 30 Quentin Tarantino designs his soundtracks with a meticulousness that refl ects his status as an unparalleled connoisseur of popular culture. By turns comic and moving, Tarantino’s use of the sentimental 1970s song “I’ve Got a Name” to accompany the triumph of the slave Django’s transformation from property to a self- determined, freed man elicits both knowing laughter and reconsidered appreciation. As Rolling Stone comments, “It’s a

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signature Tarantino trick: He excavates a pop artifact widely maligned as trash, champions its coolness and reveals its beauty.” 31 Tarantino’s fi lms point to the crucial relationship music bears to fi lm. The fi lmmaker himself describes the importance of the original Django (1966) title track to his artistic intentions: “I knew it was imperative that I open it with this song as a big opening credit sequence . . . because any spaghetti western worth its salt has a big open-ing credit sequence. In fact, if it doesn’t, I don’t really want to see it.” 32 Opening his slave- era fi lm in the musical manner of a spaghetti western signals the fi lm’s historical revisionism.

Editing/Montage

Editing (also known as “montage”) is the joining of one uninterrupted sequence of fi lm (or “shot”) to another. For many fi lm theorists, editing is the foundation of fi lm art. Conven-tional fi lm style relies on a method that fi lmmakers call “continuity editing,” which ensures that viewers can follow one shot to the next without losing track of time and place. The scene “continues” through various visual changes, including shot types or the implied proximity of the camera to the subject being fi lmed. David Bordwell describes continuity editing as “the practice of breaking a scene into matched shots in order to highlight character action and reaction” and claims that by 1920, “this editing strategy became the dominant approach to mass- market fi lmmaking across the world . . . the essence of cinema itself.” 33 Using mul-tiple cameras to fi lm the same event allows the edited version to unfold for the viewer from different perspectives and provides for changes in emphasis through, for example, cuts to close- ups or to a view associated with a different character and then back to a longer, more omniscient or neutral point of view.

As mentioned in the earlier discussion of approaches to directing, extensive use of editing is usually associated with formalism. That is because editing is a means of manip-ulating time and space in a movie that, although inherently unrealistic, can effectively convey complicated narratives—as well as political messages. Editing can be relatively simple and seamless, such as cutting from a distant perspective (or long shot) on the exte-rior of a location like a house—known as an establishing shot because it establishes where and when the scene to follow will take place—to a shot from inside the house focused on two characters seen in conversation either in full shot, including all of the actors’ bod-ies, or from the knees up—known as an “American shot” (or medium- long shot). 34 Such an editing pattern is so common the typical viewer may not even notice the transition. Continuity editing conventions mask the process and effect of editing. On the other hand, editing may also involve an extremely complicated series of rapid shots strung together (jump cutting) or any mixture of shots of varying lengths and takes (i.e., the time elapsing from one cut to the next), depicting locations and events not necessarily closely related to each other or the primary story being told. In these cases, montage editing draws attention to its effects, intentionally working against the perception of effortless continuity. Film pioneer and Russian Soviet fi lm director Sergei Eisenstein championed montage precisely for its power to jolt audiences from the ideological passivity and political complacency that smoothly joined images and Hollywood technique encouraged. To him, editing style alone presented a political choice.

Editing techniques can be used to transmit political messages in any number of ways. A famous sequence at the end of The Godfather (1972) splices scenes from a Catholic wed-ding with a series of vicious mob hits, suggesting the new godfather’s corruption of even the

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church as he consolidates his power in the world of organized crime. Generally speaking, extensive use of fi lm editing tends to draw attention to the director and, presumably, to the fi lm’s message. Longer- lasting, unedited takes tend to focus greater attention on the subject matter. Despite the fact that the average take (also referred to as “average shot length”) in most fi lms has shortened noticeably over time and sequences of varying takes have been shown to hold viewers’ attention most effectively, either editing technique can enhance the transmission of a particular message. 35

Composition/Mise- en- scène

Composition (also known as mise- en- scène, a term derived from the French meaning to “put on stage”) is the construction of movie scenes—the placement of people and objects in the frame of the camera lens. Different kinds of composition help directors propel their narra-tives and also transmit political messages. Among the elements of a typical composition in an individual movie scene are (1) the dominant object or objects, (2) the camera angles, (3) the apparent distance of the camera from the scene, or “proxemics,” (4) the colors and lighting, (5) possible distortion by use of lenses, (6) the density or complexity of the image, (7) charac-ter placement, and (8) the framing of the images. 36 Manipulating these and other elements in a given scene allows the director to say different things even before any action is fi lmed. As a general principle, the larger an object appears in the frame, the more signifi cance it carries as a symbol or plot foreshadowing. A famous example of this rule can be found in Alfred Hitch-cock’s postwar romantic thriller Notorious (1946). Ingrid Bergman plays Alicia, the daughter of a German man convicted by the United States of treason. To prove her patriotism, she ingra-tiates herself with a group of exiled Nazis in order to spy on them for the Americans, going so far as to marry one. Unbeknownst to her, her husband fi gures out her secret and begins to

In Notorious (1946), a close- up on a specially made large teacup in the foreground draws unspoken attention to its use in poisoning double agent Alicia, played by Ingrid Bergman, middle- ground left.

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poison her. To imply the presence of poison in her tea, Hitchcock ordered an extra- large teacup to be made and then placed it in the foreground of the frame as a woozy Alicia, seated directly behind the cup, begins to feel faint. She does not know what is ailing her but we do, thanks to the unmistakable plot message transmitted by Hitchcock’s close- up on a gigantic cup. In Thelma and Louise (1991), disorganized housewife Thelma, preparing for a weekend away from her overbearing husband, impulsively tosses a gun into her suitcase, holding it by her fi ngertips as if afraid to touch it. A close- up on its glinting barrel amid the muddle of clothes, curlers, and makeup tells us that, despite its incongruence with the rest of the mise- en- scène, sooner or later that gun will be fi red. Metaphorically, the unexpected appearance of the gun in close- up hints that the fraught emotional issues smoldering beneath the messy surface of Thelma’s careless housekeeping will eventually blow up in her face.

Normally, audiences do not consciously think about composition, but as these examples prove, its use is a powerful tool for manipulating audience reaction to characters and events within a fi lm. Shots at the end of Bulworth (1998) show a splayed Bulworth (Warren Beatty) on the pavement after the gunman hits his mark; they remind viewers of famous images of Robert Kennedy’s assassination at the Embassy Hotel in Los Angeles and, more indirectly, of his brother President John Kennedy’s murder by a remote gunman. The composition also features witnesses pointing in the direction of the shots fi red, directly imitative of photo-graphs from the immediate aftermath of Martin Luther King’s assassination.

The last medium- close- up of Maya, the main character responsible for apprehending Osama bin Laden in Zero Dark Thirty , features her alone in the vast hold of a military trans-port plane, a red canvas cargo lattice standing out behind her as a kind of cage. That the bars remain to her back, not strapped over her chest, suggests she is free, while at the same time the color of the netting alludes to the American fl ag prominently featured in proximity to her

CIA operative Maya (Jessica Chastain) sheds a tear after Navy SEALs kill Osama bin Laden in Zero Dark Thirty (2012).

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throughout the fi lm, with red historically symbolizing bloodshed in the name of freedom. This fi nal frame suggests that Maya, better than most, knows the price of American freedom or, given the ambiguous lighting of her face, the cost of vengeance. Whatever its precise contours, the knowledge Maya has gained by the fi lm’s conclusion, no less traumatic for being clear from the beginning, will haunt her for a long time to come, threatening as it does visually to ensnare her in its complicated web.

Photography/Cinematography

Photography in movies (frequently referred to as cinematography) entails a number of techniques, including the use of lighting and color, camera angles and placement, and the selection and/or creation of movie sets, props, and special effects. A brief discussion of each aspect of photography follows.

Lighting and Color

Directors and their cinematographers use a variety of devices that affect the lighting and per-ception of color in a fi lm. They may choose to rely on natural lighting and use lamps to create additional light or shadows. Filters may be used in conjunction with various sorts of lenses that distort the natural colors in a scene. All these effects can enhance the potential political impact of a scene. In All the President’s Men (1976), for example, the lighting juxtaposes the well- lit pressroom of the Washington Post with a dark, seedy parking garage where the truth is divulged by a secret source nicknamed Deep Throat. The contrast highlights the journalis-tic truth (and pure motives of the journalists) compared to the dirty political reality. 37 Traffi c (2000) contrasts different settings through dominant color tones. The scenes in Mexico are saturated with a yellow ochre color, whereas the U.S. scenes involving Michael Douglas as a judge who discovers that his own daughter is a junkie are fi lmed in a dominant blue tone. The deep coloring of both worlds suggests a parallel between them: the open corruption of the Mexican police is not so far removed from the politicization of the antidrug movement in the United States. Traffi c ’s director, Steven Soderbergh, takes a similar approach in his science fi ction thriller, Contagion (2011). When a contagious pandemic breaks out, health offi cials race against time for a cure before global social order breaks down. Once the dis-ease has spread and martial law is declared, the fi lm’s mise- en- scène looks washed out and antiseptic as one touch from another person may mean death. This effect is underscored by fl ashbacks to the deeply saturated colors of the scenes before the outbreak when life still had its pleasures, like gambling and drinking in foreign casinos, and when illicit physical contact was the old- fashioned, adulterous kind.

Camera Angles and Placement

The position of the camera and the angle of the scene being photographed are tools that directors can use to insert messages about the subject matter of their fi lms. Here, too, fi lm-makers make crucial choices. Generally speaking, extreme camera angles emphasize the meaning of the projected image. A high- angled shot suggests a different interpretation from that of a low- angled shot. Much of Orson Welles’s masterpiece Citizen Kane (1941) is shot from a low angle, giving the characters a larger- than- life quality and thus emphasizing the

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politician Kane’s mythical quality and towering personality as he looms over the camera. 38 In All the President’s Men , high-angle shots and bird’s- eye views suggest that the corruption the journalists investigate is more widely spread than they imagine. A close- up of Jane Fonda’s face in The China Syndrome (1979) instead of a long shot of the nuclear reactor room subtly infl uences the moviegoer’s perception of the situation. Some actors’ faces accrue mean-ing from appearing in thematically linked fi lms over time so that their very appearance in a close- up suggests not only the importance of a discrete expression, but a collection of meanings layered into the very folds of their skin. By virtue of his many appearances in and direction of overtly and subtly political fi lms alike, Robert Redford’s craggy face reg-isters the chisel- jawed handsomeness of his movie heartthrob past, but, more pertinently, his cerulean eyes and lined skin have attained symbolic value, suggesting intelligence and political skepticism as well as a liberal activist’s concern for the environment. His close- up toward the beginning of the conspiracy thriller The Company You Keep (2012) guarantees his involvement with the 1960s underground protest movement in question, but also assures us that he will not be guilty of the worst crimes of his compatriots.

The use of close- ups serves a number of purposes, political and otherwise, in a fi lm. Among them is the crucial function of drawing the audience deeply into the action. “We are held to fi lms by the human face,” Leo Braudy writes. “Faces hold us more than plot, direction, photography.” 39 Close- ups are artistically and emotionally satisfying, but by focusing our attention on one person at a time, they may cause us to lose sight of the shared experiences of the characters or the historical and political context of events. All is reduced to the one person we see; everything is individualized. Movies do not have to do this, however, and directors from Griffi th to Frank Capra, Robert Altman, Martin Ritt, Sidney Lumet, and Alan Pakula have found ways to let us see their central characters in larger contexts. For example, Frank Capra’s fi lms often highlight the wisdom and shared humanity of the public, pitting populist values against the corruption of high- powered bosses or self- serving politicians—unless the politician comes from the humble ranks of an everyday Joe, like Jefferson Smith in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) or Longfel-low Deeds in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936). Alan Pakula’s The Parallax View (1974) frequently features crowd shots at public events and frames them in relation to Warren Beatty’s crusading journalist Joe Frady to suggest the presence of assassination conspira-tors nowhere and everywhere at once.

Sets, Props, and Special Effects

In many movies, settings are an important contributor to the theme and storytelling. Unlike stage sets, which are limited to a small physical area, movie sets can evoke anything from a small room to the vastness of outer space, thanks to the ever- evolving artistry of spe-cial effects. “In the best movies . . . settings are not merely backdrops for the action, but symbolic extensions of the theme,” observes Giannetti. 40 The approaches of realism and formalism suggest greater use of location and studio sets, respectively, but realism can be forged on a Hollywood set as readily as formalism can be expressed using location shoot-ing. Oliver Stone uses both approaches in his extremely formalistic Natural Born Killers (1994). This frenetic fi lm moves from cartoonlike set action to gritty outdoor scenes, allow-ing Stone to achieve a “combination of technical virtuosity and dark commentary on the modern American landscape.” 41

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All the fi lmmaking techniques discussed earlier can help shape the audience’s perceptions of a fi lm’s setting. Consider, for example, the variety of messages extended by scenes osten-sibly shot in the White House in movies ranging from romantic comedies ( The American President , 1995), political thrillers ( Absolute Power , 1997), comedies ( Dick , 1999), politi-cal action dramas ( Air Force One , 1997; Olympus Has Fallen , 2013 ), and action comedies ( Mars Attacks! , 1995), to powerful historical-political biographies ( Nixon , 1995; J. Edgar , 2011; Lincoln , 2012; The Butler , 2013). The same basic location can be manipulated to inform an endless variety of moods and messages.

Product Placement

A controversial aspect of fi lm sets is the increasing intentional use of recognizable brand names in movies. Such placements are increasingly the results of negotiated contracts between product sponsors and fi lm producers to offset what we have seen are the formi-dable costs to produce a movie. In addition to the commercial information they extend to audiences, product placements tend to reinforce corporatism in American political culture. In E.T. (1982), a blockbuster directed by Steven Spielberg, an endearing alien is enticed to come out of hiding with Reese’s Pieces candy. In the wake of the movie, sales of Reese’s Pieces soared, and the result was the birth of modern product placement, a trend solidifi ed when a year later Tom Cruise famously donned Ray- Ban sunglasses to similar effect in his breakout hit, Risky Business (1983).

Some directors, however, use products as an additional nod toward realism and do not by law have to negotiate with companies to include brand labels in their work. In The Last Detail (1973), for example, stars Jack Nicholson, Otis Young, and Randy Quaid down end-less cans of Schlitz beer in a variety of seedy bars and fl ophouses. In this case, the product’s lowly status seems to reinforce the fi lm’s message of working- class antiauthoritarianism. Mark Miller, noting that many famous American auteurs, including Robert Altman, Martin Scorsese, and Ang Lee, have directed commercials, argues that movies and commercials are becoming increasingly similar in both form and content. 42 Additionally, digital video recorder (DVR) technology gives home viewers the chance to skip television commercials and thus increases the need for eye- catching, fast- forward- stopping commercials on par with the production values of the best television and movies. The facts that the most important advertising outlet for movies is television and that today’s actors enjoy careers in both mov-ies and television (e.g., Jason Segel of television’s How I Met Your Mother , 2005–2014, and movies I Love You Man , 2009, and The Muppets , 2011; or Tina Fey of television’s 30 Rock , 2006–2013, and movies, Baby Mama , 2008; Date Night , 2010; Admission , 2013; and The Muppets . . . Again , 2014) show how entwined the two industries are.

While television has historically relied more heavily on product advertising for fi nancing than Hollywood, both participate in product placement. The political implications of prod-uct placement, however, remain unclear. Extensive use of placements at a minimum tells audiences that corporate America generally has the endorsement of the actors, the director, and the fi lmmaking industry. In fact, given how important brand names are to corporate marketing and how infl uential fi lms can be in regard to consumer behavior, it is likelier that product placement will meet greater opposition from the corporate side than from the fi lm-maker side. For example, despite the critical and popular success of Flight (2012), the story of a pilot, played by Denzel Washington, battling alcoholism, Anheuser- Busch InBev asked

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Paramount to remove its labels from the fi lm. In its debut on movie screens, Washington was seen knocking back Budweisers while in his car and then showing up in the cockpit impaired by this alcohol consumption. If InBev gets its way, its logo will be removed or disguised in digital copies and other forms of future distribution.

The trouble is that under the laws of “fair use,” artistic license extends to fi lmmakers using trademark products on set. Says one legal expert, trademark laws “don’t exist to give companies the right to control and censor movies . . . that might happen to include real- world items.” 43 But while Budweiser’s owners do not want the movie audience to associate their product with irresponsible drinking and dangerous behavior, it was widely reported that Heineken paid $45 million to have its beer replace the famous “shaken, not stirred” vodka martini as James Bond’s drink of choice in Skyfall (2012), a movie franchise well known for product placements (e.g., BMW, Omega, Coke). So while some companies pay big money for implicit product endorsement by a fi gure with the cultural capital James Bond enjoys, others want to protect their brand image from association with unsavory characters or controversial plots that might put off consumers or damage the brand’s value as a cultural symbol. In this way, artistic motivation can be diffi cult to distinguish from fi nancial incen-tive to showcase brand- name products. The political message may simply be a reminder that moviemaking remains at its core a capitalist venture.

Actors and Acting

Casting

The decision of which actors and actresses to cast in a movie can create and send political messages. Looking at the history of fi lm, James Monaco argues that the fact that movie celeb-rities even exist is “evidence that fi lm has radically altered traditional values”: “Previously, heroic models for society were either purely fi ctional creations or real people of accomplish-ment (whom we knew at only one remove). Film fused the two types: real people became fi ctional characters. The concept of the ‘star’ developed—and stars are quite different from ‘actors.’” 44 According to Monaco, early fi lm producers—apparently wary of the potential phenomenon of movie stardom and demands for higher salaries—insisted that actors work anonymously. However, fan magazines soon appeared that identifi ed stars such as Mary Pickford and Charlie Chaplin, and these early stars were soon vying for the fi rst million- dollar movie contracts. 45

More specifi cally, Florence Lawrence was the fi rst actor publicly identifi ed by name—in a publicity stunt, no less—and is considered the fi rst movie star. Known to fans only as “the Biograph Girl,” Lawrence was working with director D.W. Griffi th at his Biograph fi lm company when Carl Laemmle of the Independent Motion Picture company lured her to become the “IMP Girl” instead. To drum up interest in her, Laemmle planted a story with the press that she had been killed in a streetcar accident, only to turn around and famously announce in Moving Picture World magazine, “We nail a lie!” accusing IMP’s “enemies” of lying about the good health of his new leading lady. To prove she was indeed alive and well, he promised she would appear at the premier of her latest fi lm. The stunt worked: fans mobbed her at the theater and thus the star system was born. A different instance of early stardom also highlights the planned manufacturing of stars suggested by Laemmle’s street-car stunt. Theda Bara was born a middle- class Jewish girl named Theodosia Goodman, but

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was transformed into an on-screen vamp in movies like A Fool There Was (1915). She car-ried the act into an off- screen persona as well, claiming she was born under the Sphinx in Egypt and that her name was an anagram for Arab Death. She wore furs to publicity events in the heat of the Los Angeles sun to keep up her Egyptian mystique and posed with skel-etons and kohl- lined eyes to further her man- killer image.

Movie stars soon, if not immediately, begin to project messages based on the images their fi lms created for them and accompanied by all the publicity that defi nes the industry. “Stars [are] the creation of the public: political and psychological models who demonstrate some quality that we admire.” 46 Thus, the casting of an actor known for patriotic roles— Harrison Ford or Tom Hanks, for example—reassures an audience that the movie they are seeing supports national (American) values. Tom Hanks has been cast in the glow of an eternal American hero thanks to his association with NASA in Apollo 13 (1995) and the miniseries he produced, From the Earth to the Moon (1998); his role in the World War II movie Sav-ing Private Ryan and his narration of the television documentary Killing Lincoln (2013); the television miniseries he produced, Band of Brothers (2001); and even his role as the voice of the beloved, timeworn toy cowboy, Woody, in the animated franchise Toy Story (1995, 1999, 2010). Hanks is in many ways a modern- day Jimmy Stewart, a star whose presence in a fi lm almost always signifi ed the goodness of America. John Wayne, of course, was the ultimate cinematic symbol of American political (and military) will. As Hollywood fi lms increasingly address the international market and rely on computer- generated imagery and comic book heroes, the less likely a star will emerge to embody the American heroism of a Wayne or Ford.

The images that stars build can resonate in any number of political ways, including racial and sexual stereotypes. Denzel Washington won a Best Actor Oscar for his portrayal of a corrupt, drug- dealing cop in Training Day (2001), an African- American stereotype that his previous fi lm roles had eschewed but that Hollywood audiences themselves were quick to recognize. Washington reprised the type by playing a heroin kingpin in the title role of American Gangster (2007). Those stereotypical facets of his star image are complicated and arguably outweighed, however, by his roles in the political biographies Cry Freedom (1987), in which he played the martyred South African activist Stephen Biko, and his title role in Spike Lee’s Malcolm X (1992). Heroic roles as crusading lawyer ( Philadelphia , 1993; The Pelican Brief , 1993), bold soldier ( Glory , 1990, for which he won the Best Supporting Actor Oscar as a black volunteer Union soldier in the Civil War; Crimson Tide , 1995; Cour-age Under Fire , 1996), offi cer of the law ( The Siege , 1998; Fallen , 1998; Bone Collector , 1999; Inside Man , 2006), and inspirational sports fi gure ( The Hurricane , 1999; Remem-ber the Titans , 2000) also counter his affi liation with stereotype. Despite or as a result of his Oscar- honored appearances, which tend to validate American notions about acceptable, popular representations of African- Americans, Washington’s enduring persona approaches Tom Hanks territory. This is true despite the fact that Glory unfolds from the perspective not of Washington but of his white commanding offi cer, and Training Day transforms him from infl uential cop to urban drug- lord bullying his naive white recruit. Flipping stereotypes further, in the fi lm The Equalizer (2014) Washington takes over the vigilante role originally reserved for an Anglo avenger during the Reagan- era television series (1985–1989) and played by British actor Edward Woodward. Due to American attitudes on race, Washington, more so than Hanks, is an American hero with layers. 47

Sometimes decisions are made to cast actors “against type,” meaning in a role or situation that notably contrasts with their normal character type. This may be done in an attempt to

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highlight a particular message, as audiences will usually sense the contrast between a star’s image and a particular role that diverges from it. When Hanks played a hit man in Road to Perdition (2002), it cut against the grain of his good- guy status. The fi lm invited potential viewers to ask, “What could have caused Tom Hanks to take the road to damnation?”—a question answered only by going to the movie. If an actor’s image is too densely meshed with a particular type, however, audiences may reject any deviation from that profi le. For example, when Adam Sandler plays anything other than a man- child in a goofy comedy—a Peter Pan syndrome suggested by the titles of his fi lms alone: The Waterboy (1998); Big Daddy (1999); That’s My Boy (2012); Grown Ups (2010); Grown Ups 2 (2013)—his audience deserts him (e.g., Punch Drunk Love , 2002; Funny People , 2009). One of Julia Roberts’s few box offi ce fl ops was the horror- thriller Mary Reilly (1996), in which she played against her spirited, thousand- watt- smile type as an unadorned, quietly dreary chambermaid in love with John Malkovich’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Sometimes movies build their entire premise around casting against type, a tack followed by two fi lms playing off Arnold Schwarzenegger’s image as an action star with a muscular body. Kindergarten Cop (1990) puts him in the role of kindergarten teacher, children crawling over him like a jungle gym. Junior (1994) takes his iconic identifi cation with stereotypical masculinity and body- builder- level intelligence and goes for laughs by casting him as a male scientist who agrees to carry a pregnancy in his own body. Schwarzenegger as a highly intelligent scientist sporting a baby bump: what could be funnier?

Giannetti explains that stars generally can be divided into two categories: personality stars, who tend to play roles that “fi t a preconceived public image,” and actor stars, “who can play roles of greater range and variety.” According to Giannetti, the so- called star sys-tem frequently cues the audience to the political values transmitted by a movie. 48 In the days of the studio system (1930s–1960s), when studio companies controlled in monopolistic fashion the production, marketing, and distribution of movies, stars signed contracts that determined their every role and included morality clauses dictating their behavior on and off screen. Studios worked to generate positive or at least socially acceptable publicity and to contain any contrasting or negative gossip associated with their fi nancial investment, the star. Thanks to the studio star system, Rock Hudson became known as a hunky, heterosexual romantic lead in fi lms like the genre- defi ning melodrama Magnifi cent Obsession (1954) and the equally infl uential romantic comedy Pillow Talk (1959). At the will of the studios in the 1950s, he was also briefl y married. Only when he came out as gay and dying of AIDS in the 1980s did the public come to know someone different from the star persona the system had created.

Today’s star system is no longer the product of the studios, and most studios no longer function as monopolies. Stars contract through agents to work from fi lm to fi lm and col-laborate with a variety of directors and studios. Gossip about stars supports an entire cottage industry of magazines, television shows, and websites. Nonetheless, it would be disingenu-ous to suggest that the Svengali effect in Hollywood vanished with studio control. Morality clauses have arguably been replaced by the constant surveillance of stars by paparazzi and the celebrity industry that pays them. As important, audiences dictate a kind of morality clause by accepting or rejecting at the box offi ce certain actors in certain parts. The out Brit-ish actor Rupert Everett advises gay actors to remain closeted for the sake of their careers: “Straight men get every opportunity to play gay parts that they want and then win tons of awards for doing so. But the other way doesn’t really work out. The mainstream actor

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has had to become straighter and straighter and straighter.” 49 The former child star Lindsay Lohan watched her career falter as much for her off- screen troubles, including arrests and rehab stints, as for her lackluster performances.

What the public “knows” about stars’ lives outside the parts they choose in fi lms helps to shape their acting persona. “Personality stars” such as Will Smith or Cameron Diaz pro-ject a more or less predictable image in their fi lm roles. On top of that, their acting persona meshes well with the ideas generated about their “private” or off- screen lives through reports on gossip websites like Perezhilton.com and television shows like the syndicated news and entertainment show Inside Edition . Film scholars refer to this information as “extra- textual discourse” and it, too, contributes to how the public interprets a star’s performance in a fi lm. The predictability of “personality stars” makes them more likely to convey ideological mes-sages than “actor stars” such as Meryl Streep, Daniel Day Lewis, or Christian Bale who are known for “disappearing” into a role.

The politics–fi lm nexus is further manifested when politicians try (or at least seem to try) to emulate movie- star icons. Ronald Reagan’s presidency was marked by frequent invocations of the American western movie hero—an actual fi lm role in Reagan’s past as a movie actor. Images of his election campaigns and presidency frequently framed Reagan in a cowboy hat on a horse or chopping wood on his ranch. In California, meanwhile, actor Arnold Schwarzenegger used lines made famous by his own movies to promote his success-ful campaign for the offi ce of governor, leading to his nickname the “Governator,” a play on his famous role in The Terminator franchise. (We will further explore this reversal of the fi lm–politics relationship in the next chapter.)

Characters

Certain types of characters—some frequently associated with certain fi lm genres—tend to transmit political messages. Gianos notes that characters representing political fi gures frequently tend to be “male, white, at least middle- aged, overweight, self- important, not terribly bright, not terribly well- informed, and with a cigar.” 50 Such stereotyping reinforces already negative views about politics and politicians that many fi lmgoers hold.

On the other hand, stereotypical underdog characters, frequently female or from minor-ity groups, are often used to emphasize the struggle against “the system” or “the political establishment.” Two successful fi lms about political underdogs featured women: Sally Field ( Norma Rae , 1979) and Julia Roberts ( Erin Brockovich , 2000). Both played feisty, attractive, working- class women who prevail against the (predominantly male) establishment. The fact that these protagonists were female may have made the movies seem less threatening than similar fi lms with male leads.

More generally, of course, stereotyped characters merely refl ect dominant social conven-tions, values, and attitudes. Prostitutes, for example, are frequently portrayed as “hookers with hearts of gold,” refl ecting the tolerance (or familiarity, at least) that most audiences have for the commercialization of sex—as long as it conforms to heterosexual norms and ideas about women as both sexually available and eager to be “good,” both forgiving and forgiv-able. Belle Watling in Gone With the Wind (1939), Dallas in Stagecoach (1939), Bree Daniels in Klute (1971), Lana in Risky Business (1983), and Shug in Hustle & Flow (2005) number among the many examples of the type. While slowly changing, minority roles tend to be ste-reotyped in the sense that unless a script specifi cally calls for, say, a black policeman, most

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characters in a fi lm are likely to be white. When a member of a racial or ethnic minority (par-ticularly a non- star) appears in a fi lm, audiences are cued to expect something that reinforces stereotypes from that character. This often amounts to an early death or exit from the fi lm. With color- blind casting rare, fi lms with predominantly white casts take race for granted as if it were relevant only to other groups. This pattern makes all the more remarkable the surprise success of the low- budget thriller No Good Deed (2014), starring black English actor Idris Elba ( Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom , 2013) and African- American actress Taraji Henson ( Think Like a Man , 2012; Think Like a Man Too , 2014). No Good Deed offers a familiar seeming home invasion, woman- in- peril plot exceptional only for its two black stars. Yet it almost doubled its production costs in its fi rst weekend at the box offi ce, showing that, increasingly, black- cast fi lms effectively marketed can succeed fi nancially without invoking stereotype.

Names

According to Gianos, even the names of movie characters are sometimes used to project a political message. The practice of using names to signify political and other themes car-ried over from literature into fi lm. “Jefferson Smith” of the fi lm classic Mr. Smith Goes to Washington suggests both a common man and a representative of America’s patriotic past. 51 The title role of Bulworth suggests that a politician is worth (or full of) bull. Films may also use nicknames to suggest a character’s multiple facets. At the start of Dirty Harry (1971), the fi rst in a series of three, a fellow cop calls Detective Harry Callahan “Dirty Harry,” accusing him of “hating everybody,” and then proceeds to list every racial epithet he can think of to show what an equal opportunity “hater” Harry really is. This strategy allows the fi lm to indulge in racist jokes without actually seeming to support the “dirt” in Harry’s character. Later a new partner gets to know Harry and wonders aloud if his nickname refers not to his racism or his willingness to play dirty to get the bad guy but to his commitment to do the dirty jobs Harry’s captain assigns to him. This sentiment earns Harry our begrudging sympathy despite his fi rm affi nity with racial epithets, a char-acteristic he shares with his nemesis, the psycho- killer Scorpio (a name that suggests the real- life California “Zodiac” serial killer). Frequently the signifi cance of character names is lost on the audience and only noticed by fi lm critics and fans in hindsight. Each letter of the evil computer’s name “HAL” in 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) is one letter removed from “IBM.”

Distribution and Promotion

As we noted in Chapter 1 , a movie is unlikely to have great political impact if nobody sees it. The extent to which a movie is distributed and promoted is critical. In the latest incarnation of the fi lm industry, a handful of conglomerate global media companies like Viacom, Sony, and Disney dominate. Their business model relies on “tent- pole” productions meant to miti-gate the risk of fi nancial loss and guarantee domestic and international sales, with DVD sales and international markets accounting for more and more of a fi lm’s anticipated profi t margin. In industry- speak, “tent- pole” refers to big- budget movies expected to earn enough to carry a studio’s inevitable fl ops as well as its smaller movie projects not designed or required to earn a huge profi t. Films like Iron Man (2008, 2010, 2013) and G.I. Joe (2009, 2013)

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form the “poles” that prop up the entire “tent” of the studio. They entail saturation levels of both distribution and promotion, which means release on more than 3,000 U.S. screens and multiple venue promotions, including television commercials, tie- in products, press junkets promoting the fi lm, and the like. At the same time, the studio itself is a subsidiary of a larger capital- intensive, global media conglomerate that typically also owns television, cable, and online entertainment networks among other media ventures. The tent- pole model ideally balances mass- marketed, big- budget fi lms engineered to generate huge revenue on one side and the endeavors their profi tability makes possible on the other side—smaller, more per-sonal, or ideologically challenging fi lms often marketed to niche audiences. On that side of the scale fall most overtly political fi lms with promotion campaigns far more modest than those tipping the other way.

Not everyone sees the balancing act working quite so neatly. No less a Hollywood fi xture than veteran actress and multiple Academy Award-winner Meryl Streep has linked the tent- pole model to the continued lack of opportunity for women in Hollywood:

We are very familiar with the dreadful statistics that detail the shocking under- representation of women in our business. Seven to ten percent of directors, producers, writers, and cin-ematographers [are women] in any given year. This in spite of the fact that in the last fi ve years, fi ve little movies aimed at women have earned over $1.6 billion: The Help, The Iron Lady believe it or not, Bridesmaids, Mamma Mia! and The Devil Wears Prada. . . . They cost a fraction of what the big tent pole failures cost. . . . Let’s talk about The Iron Lady. It cost $14 million to make it and brought in $114 million. Pure profi t! So why? Why? Don’t they want the money? 52

A political biopic about Margaret Thatcher, England’s prime minister in the 1980s, The Iron Lady (2012) was not predicted—or designed—to make so much money and was screened in only 1,200 theaters, compared to Pacifi c Rim ’s total of over 3,000. Despite Thatcher’s domineering role on the world stage, her politically polarizing tenure, and Streep in the lead, the fi lm was assumed by all concerned to have built- in limited appeal. Though The Iron Lady surpassed fi nancial expectations and 2012 was not only the year of the politi-cal fi lm but also one of Hollywood’s most prosperous, those facts are not likely to change the erstwhile prognostication that says political fi lms are not moneymakers.

Tent- pole movies are expected to recoup costs if not in the domestic market then through foreign and DVD sales. They tend not to rely on dialogue or the intimate subtleties of act-ing associated with a Meryl Streep or Forrest Whitaker performance and are less about the messiness of being human than the spectacle of computer-generated images (CGI) fantasy- scapes, massive explosions, car chases, and science fi ctive displays of military might. Such fi lms dominated the multiplexes in summer 2013: Pacifi c Rim , Elysium , After Earth , Man of Steel , The Lone Ranger , White House Down , World War Z among them. As popular press movie critic Manohla Dargis notes, it has been a very long time since “the major movie companies were still in the business of American life rather than just international proper-ties.” 53 Movies that do not address the “business of American life” are even less likely to express overtly political themes or dramatize matters of governance and the complexity of how groups and individuals experience politics and exert political agency.

Diagnosing Hollywood in the 1990s, cultural critic Neal Gabler blamed the conglomerate fi nancing structure for enabling even terrible movies to make money and crowding out more

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individualized efforts: “By combining movies, broadcast television, video, foreign video, for-eign television, merchandizing, theme parks, soundtrack albums, books and heaven knows what else, [Disney] has devised a new form of vertical integration that takes virtually all of the risk out of movie software.” 54 Other industry experts contribute recent developments in Holly-wood patterns of marketing and distribution to the effects of globalization, digitization, and media deregulation. 55 Yet another factor contributing to the 2010- decade’s tent- pole output was the steep decline in DVD sales beginning in 2008. Removing that profi t cushion meant even greater pressure on the contribution of international sales to achieve profi tability. 56

Yet the business model of tent- pole fi lmmaking favored by the conglomerates may be collapsing under its own weight. Hardly Gabler’s risk- free hits, the blockbusters of 2013 included more than a few duds: Pacifi c Rim, R.I.P.D. , After Earth , and Disney’s own lemon, The Lone Ranger , all underperformed in the United States. In response, heavy hitters George Lucas and Steven Spielberg lamented Hollywood’s artistic climate and business logic. Pre-dicting an industry “implosion,” Spielberg said, “You’re at the point right now where a studio would rather invest $250 million in one fi lm for a real shot at the brass ring than make a whole bunch of really interesting, deeply personal—and even maybe historical—projects that may get lost in the shuffl e.” Lucas foresaw the day when most idiosyncratic and crea-tive fi lmmakers would move to television. He noted how the steep rise in marketing costs, competition from new players like Netfl ix, Amazon, and Yahoo, and fi nancial reliance on the tent- pole model were squeezing out edgy and uniquely personal voices. 57 The success of House of Cards on Netfl ix and HBO’s Recount and Game Change hints that such changes may have already come to political fi lms.

The major studios do house smaller artistic or specialty divisions that produce mov-ies with an “indie” feel, and these are likelier to be political fi lms. There also exist what the industry refers to as mini- major studios like Lionsgate that compete with the major, conglomerate- owned studios like Warner Bros. and Columbia. Hundreds of cheaper, smaller, truly independently produced fi lms are distributed each year as well, but while produced by a smaller company, they frequently look for (and get) distribution by mini- major or major studios. (That matchmaking dance between independent fi lmmakers and studio distributors can become frenzied at festivals like Sundance.) Yet truly independently made fi lms are less likely to be exhibited outside of art house theaters, fi lm festivals, and large American cit-ies or will merit larger distribution and exhibition only if they fi rst break through at a smaller level. Lacking the funding required for tent- pole- sized promotion, their success may depend on word of mouth—ironically, the very “promotion” that can kill a tent pole’s prospects of attaining the “brass ring.”

It can be an intense food chain of ownership and controlling interests among various distribution companies and exhibitors, but most mainstream tributaries lead to the mighty waters of corporate control, conglomerates run by a hierarchy of business people untrained in the art of fi lm and interested in studios primarily as fi nancial assets capable of generating multiple revenue streams. The interests of artists and commerce can clash. For example, political fi lm champion George Clooney feuded publicly with hedge funder-investor Daniel Loeb over two of summer 2013’s tent- pole fl ops. Loeb, whose company owns a 7 percent stake in Sony, announced the conglomerate should sell off its entertainment assets after the back- to- back disappointments of After Earth and White House Down . Clooney’s production company Smokehouse Pictures plants its fl ag with Sony, and Clooney did not mince words in his cri- de- coeur answering Loeb’s threat:

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A guy from a hedge fund entity is the single least qualifi ed person to be making these kinds of judgments, and he is dangerous to our industry . . . I would call him a carpetbagger, and one who is trying to spread a climate of fear that pushes studios to want to make only tent poles. Films like Michael Clayton, Out of Sight , Good Night , and Good Luck , The Descen-dants and O, Brother Where Art Thou?—none of these are movies studios are inclined to make. What he’s doing is scaring studios and pushing them to make decisions from a place of fear. Why is he buying stock like crazy if he’s so down on things? He’s trying to manipulate the market. I am no apologist for the studios, but these people know what they are doing. If you look at the industry track record, this business has made a lot of money. It creates a lot of jobs and is still one of the largest exporters in the world. To have this guy portraying it that Sony management is the bad stepchild and doesn’t know what it is doing and he’s going to fi x it? That is like Walmart saying, let me fi x your town, putting in their store, strangling all the small shops and getting everyone who worked in them to work for minimum wage with no health insurance. 58

Douglas Gomery links the general centralization of the fi lm industry to the political content of movies: “To those who champion fi lm as an art form, the coming of media conglomerates has meant that corporate chieftains prefer safe, formulaic fi lms to even the most elementary experimentation. To those who look to fi lm to help with ideological struggle, media conglom-erates have effectively strangled the marketplace and kept alternative means of expression marginalized.” 59 If not from the big studios’ view, then from the perspective of those interested in political fi lms, the increased number of platforms available for exhibition has arguably not only loosened the grip of corporate control but in some ways helped to counteract it. Youtube.com, Netfl ix, cable television networks like IFC and Sundance, and premium cable networks like Cinemax, Showtime, and HBO are all producing fi lms for various types of distribution, exhibition, and marketing. Never before has it been so inexpensive and so relatively simple to make a fi lm and, if nothing else, post it to the Internet for an audience potentially larger than previous generations of independent fi lmmakers could have ever dreamed.

Viewing

The culmination of the fi lmmaking process is, of course, an audience watching a completed fi lm in the theater. To this point, we have explained how various aspects of the movie pro-duction process can foster the transmission of political messages. This perspective, however, assumes that audiences can receive messages and that the received messages are somehow effective in altering the perceptions, attitudes, and ultimately the actions of movie audiences. What is there about the moviegoing experience that might lead us to believe in the power of movies as “independent variables” that may affect the minds and ultimately the behavior of audiences?

In contrast to a vast literature that dissects the political meaning of hundreds of movies, very little empirical research has been devoted to testing their actual impact on their audi-ences. Few would debate that movies (and other vehicles of popular culture) have no impact, but the extent to which fi lms—individually and collectively—change political behavior is largely unknown; however, using reason and observation (and based on studies cited in Chap-ter 1), it is possible to buttress the case for the effi caciousness of fi lms on American politics.

As Gianos notes, going to the movies is both a special and a social event. Compared to, for example, watching television, going to a movie requires initiative on the part of the

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audience. Although the audience usually consists of strangers, there is nevertheless a com-munal aspect of experiencing a fi lm. At a movie theater, the screen and sound command our attention as television generally cannot, so we are perhaps more susceptible to, or at least more accessible to, whatever messages a movie may transmit. 60

A signifi cant development in recent years has been the advent of home theater systems that enable at least a portion of the moviegoing experience to be re- created in the homes of many Americans. The DVD movie format enhances the at- home experience with higher sound and picture quality and with greater accessibility afforded by mail- order services like Netfl ix. Additionally, an increasing number of streaming sites are available on the Internet (e.g., Hulu.com, Amazon.com, and also Netfl ix.com) and displayed on televisions or com-puters using technology like gaming systems (e.g., Wii or PlayStation), Internet- equipped DVD players, or streaming “boxes” specialized for such services as Roku or Vudu. Although large high defi nition screens and acoustically sophisticated speakers cannot exactly match the grandeur and sheer scale of a large movie theater, a home theater system’s impressive visual and sound quality as well as the greater availability of a larger number of movies from various access points does make it even more likely that more fi lms will have the opportu-nity to affect the minds of the American public.

Movies are always more than mere entertainment. They can illuminate our society and political system. They can increase our understanding of government and politics. Some also can shape the way we think and feel about politics and political participation. Some fi lms try very hard to persuade, advocating policy positions on current issues. A few political fi lms, such as The Birth of a Nation (1915), The China Syndrome (1979), and the documentaries Gasland (2010) and The Invisible War (2012), appear to have had a direct impact on politics. Did The Day After Tomorrow (2004) impact the debate over global warming, or did Million Dollar Baby (2004) infl uence euthanasia laws? Did Contagion (2011) have an effect on the Center for Disease Control protocols?

Every fi lm that deals even peripherally with politics contributes to our political socialization—that is, our familiarity with the political system and our understanding of the part we play in it. Through this process, we are taught our society’s political ideas and values as well as its accepted political behavior, such as voting and deference to elected offi cials. The most important agents of political socialization are the family, peer groups, friends, and schools, but in a mobile, atomized, fragmented society like the United States, where families break down and friends and peer groups change, political scientists believe that the media gain power as socializing agents.

All mass media contribute to this political socialization, but movies are the least studied, except perhaps in terms of sexism and racism. The other political messages of fi lms may have received less attention because their impact is diffi cult to measure or because political fi lms are seldom blockbusters. But political socialization is a cumulative process, to which many forces contribute, and movies are part of that process—teaching, reinforcing, and sometimes even challenging. Film heroes and heroines become our role models. They teach us that we cannot fi ght city hall—or that we can, and under what conditions.

Movies may be a particularly powerful medium of political socialization because of the way we see them. We go voluntarily, often for social reasons, with a positive, receptive attitude. We expect to be entertained, so our guard is down. We do not go to learn, yet any teacher will tell you that the fi rst problem in teaching is getting the student’s attention, and that is what movies are designed to do. The social aspects of moviegoing also enhance their

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infl uence. Most of us go to the movies with someone else, and afterward we talk about the fi lm. Perhaps this talk is mostly about acting and action, but sometimes we discuss content. “Well, maybe nuclear power isn’t such a hot idea after all,” we say, or “I don’t think all politicians are really that bad.” Any talk at all extends the socializing power of movies, strengthening their message or hardening people’s rejection of it.

The communal nature of moviegoing also intensifi es the experience. When a fi lm holds an audience in rapt attention, when they laugh or cry or boo or applaud, we know something is happening, and the movie’s effect is more powerful. The process begins even before we go to the movie because the larger audience helps us choose which fi lm to see. Ads, critics, conversations, friends, the particular people whose opinions about movies we respect—all encourage us to see a fi lm and alert us to its signifi cance. Gandhi (1982), for example, was an improbable success. Americans got the idea that this biography of a foreign pacifi st was a “signifi cant” fi lm, a must- see. And they did see it, often applauding at the end. Even the densely historical, dialogue- heavy Lincoln (2012) succeeded in part by word of mouth that said any thoughtful American had to see it.

Movies also are one of the few things to which we give our exclusive attention. We attend with others but mostly ignore them the second the lights dim and the screen bright-ens. Turn around and look at the rest of the audience sometime. They sit in the dark, eyes riveted to the screen and totally attentive to the unfolding story, letting waves of sound and image pour over them. To experience a movie is to enter almost a state of disembodiment, so focused are we on the screen. Some theaters even eject talkative audience members. The power of movies is further enhanced by their appeal to emotion rather than intellect through nonverbal elements such as close- ups and music. This emotional manipulation makes movies more effective socializers, giving them a power that seems to defy articu-lation. More than half of today’s fi lmgoers are under age twenty- one, and the power of movies may be even greater for them because they are probably more impressionable than older fi lmgoers. That should make us at the least apprehensive about the crude political messages of some popular fi lms of the 1980s, like Red Dawn (1984, remade in 2012 with the invading force switched from Soviets to North Koreans), Rambo (1985), and Invasion U.S.A. (1985).

Other media, especially television, may be more pervasive—and invasive—but movies are a formidable force for the gentle inculcation of ideas and for persuasion. They remain the most talked about and most reviewed medium. Their power is even greater because we regard them as mere entertainment and are sometimes unconscious of their infl uence on us. Only when political fi lms cross the line from entertainment into direct persuasion and propa-ganda do we begin to resist, and even then we may be unconsciously infl uenced.

Political fi lms also can help us understand the forces we fear, putting them in perspective and thereby affecting how we cope with them. Movies that deal with war, corruption, racism, assassination, or the danger of a nuclear accident provide catharsis, reassurance, or a more complicated reaction, including acceptance of a recommended path of action to ameliorate the situation or simply greater consideration of a particular issue. “Entertainment is not a full- scale fl ight from our problems,” Michael Wood writes, “not a means of forgetting them, but rather a rearrangement of our problems into shapes which tame them.” 61 Movies also are historical artifacts that help us understand the past and how people then thought about poli-tics. And fi lms may even give voice to a society’s subconscious fears and desires. German fi lm theorist Siegfried Kracauer asserts that “the fi lms of a nation refl ect its mentality in a

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more direct way than other artistic media [because they] address themselves and appeal to the anonymous multitude [and] satisfy . . . mass desires.” 62

Some theorists, known as structuralists because they search for the underlying struc-tures of societies in their myths and stories, see movies as our modern myths, symbolically expressing our deep subconscious. Structuralists tend to focus on horror movies and the like, but explicitly political fi lms also express the wishes, needs, and fears of a nation, refl ect-ing the longing for a strong leader or concern about a war or a new group of immigrants. In so doing, they may arouse us to action, stimulate our thinking, mollify us, and convince us political action is useless or get us talking about the problem in an attempt to fi nd new solutions.

Movies infl uence our taste in fashions, hairstyles, music, dance, and cars. In 1932 Letty Lynton featured Joan Crawford in a white, ruffl ed- shoulder organdy dress that ignited a fashion craze, reportedly selling over 1 million copies. More than fi fty years later, Jennifer Beals in Flashdance (1983) wore off- the- shoulder sweatshirts that set a trend that neatly dovetailed two years later with Madonna’s leather- and- lace look in Desperately Seeking Susan (1985). The Gladiator (2000) popularized toga- like cocktail dresses and leather- laced sandals, while hipster men imitated the wild- colored shirts and contrasting textured jacket sported by Brad Pitt in the cult hit Fight Club (1999). Les Misérables (2012) found favor with both genders in clothing, hairstyles, and jewelry. In the same way, political movies can shape the way we think and talk about politics, helping to defi ne, clarify, and entrench issues or attitudes. A generation of moviegoers coming of age in the 1970s aspired to careers as cru-sading journalists breaking the next big government scandal like Bernstein and Woodward in All the President’s Men . President Reagan often relied on catchphrases from movies in order to make his point. He quoted Knute Rockne (“Win one for the Gipper”), Dirty Harry (“Go ahead—make my day”), Obe Wan Kanobe (“The force is with us”), and Rambo (“We get to win this time”) along with other movie characters. Reagan’s popularity and the con-tinued importance of his legacy to contemporary politicians like Sarah Palin and Paul Ryan and to conservative news media personalities like Rush Limbaugh suggest that his movie dialogue rhetoric resonated with voters and that segment of the American public that recalls him with fondness and even reverence. Reagan’s vice president got into trouble when he did his best Dirty Harry “Read my lips. No new taxes” imitation in his 1988 campaign and won election. When he then turned around and raised taxes as president it hurt him politically since the voting public had supported his initial tough guy talk. If movies can affect our behavior in these matters, is it diffi cult to believe that they can alter our political behavior, both individually and collectively?

Besides contributing to the way we think and talk about politics, political moviemak-ers sometimes make a conscious attempt to infl uence political issues and even to provoke action. Country (1984), The River (1984), and Places in the Heart (1984), for example, tried to build sympathy for the plight of farmers. Similarly, The China Syndrome (1979) and Silkwood (1983) were explicit warnings about the dangers of nuclear energy. Through-out the 1980s, political fi lmmakers debated American involvement in Central America and Vietnam, while many of the fi lms from the early twenty- fi rst century depicted the Iraq and Afghanistan wars with anything but a fl ag- waving approach. Rendition (2007) raised the question of whether the secret detention and torture of suspected terrorists in countries with less restrictive interrogation rules (also known as “extraordinary rendition”) was an accept-able American policy—and answered a resounding “no.” Films like these consciously seek

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to persuade. Others do so unintentionally. Twenty- eight people are alleged to have died play-ing Russian roulette after seeing The Deer Hunter (1978), and John Hinckley Jr. is supposed to have gotten the idea of shooting President Reagan from Taxi Driver (1976). Oliver Stone’s JFK (1991) left some susceptible viewers convinced that Lyndon Johnson was responsible for the assassination of President Kennedy.

Filmmakers, however, argue that the infl uence works both ways. “Mass entertainment,” one analyst insists, “cannot depart too far from the tastes and beliefs of the masses.” 63 Moviemakers bear their audiences in mind as they create their products. They are constantly aware that audiences seek entertainment, not offense, so it is safer to make movies that reinforce people’s biases rather than try to change them. The content of a fi lm may thus be, at least to some extent, a refl ection of what its audience already believes. “Our condition,” observes the fi ctitious movie producer in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel The Last Tycoon , “is that we have to take people’s own favorite folklore and dress it up and give it back to them.” 64

Political fi lms, then, may refl ect rather than shape the nation’s politics because that is the safest way to draw an audience. When political movies attempt to convert us, they risk being rejected as propaganda if they come on too strong or not making their point at all if they are subtle.

Even the most tendentious American political movies usually opt to persuade gently, however, perhaps by introducing us to issues about which the fi lmmakers think we are unin-formed, like nuclear energy in 1979 or the costs of dependence on foreign oil ( Syriana , 2005; Promised Land , 2012). Or they try to communicate to us how it feels to be discriminated against, or they evoke our sympathy by using stars in sensitive roles. Sidney Poitier prob-ably did more than we know to increase whites’ tolerance of blacks in the 1960s, while Jack Lemmon gave credibility to middle America’s doubts about nuclear power and about U.S. involvement in the Chilean counterrevolution (in The China Syndrome , 1979, and Missing , 1982, respectively). Costa- Gavras, one of the most consistently ambitious and successful makers of overtly political fi lms, says that fi lms do not make big changes, “but they can make people feel a little, discuss a little.” 65

The effect of movies on audiences is not a one- way street, for audiences—or fi lmmakers’ perceptions of audiences—also infl uence politics in the movies, not only because decades of boycotts and protests have made fi lmmakers cautious about political subjects but also because the box offi ce has become the ultimate measure of a movie’s success. To sell tickets, fi lmmakers try to please us. We in turn expect to be entertained, perhaps because movies have trained us to. Collectively, we seem to prefer to be terrifi ed by apocalyptic or slasher movies rather than forced to think by social or political commentary. Many fi lmmakers therefore refrain from making us think by muting their fi lms’ political content or rejecting politics altogether. The political message of a movie may be played down to avoid offend-ing any major segment of the diverse American audience, or it may be moderated so that as many people as possible will agree with it and buy tickets.

Unfortunately, audiences have been changing in ways that can only increase the dif-fi culties political fi lmmakers face in reaching them. “The audience today is dumber than it was,” said Sidney Lumet. “They’re morons. They don’t know how to behave in theaters—they can’t even be quiet. . . . They’re totally corrupted by the television experience. And they expect the same television emotional results: sentimentality instead of emotion, tactile sensation and shock instead of thrill.” 66 Accustomed to TV, we grow impatient with wordy movies or slow, subtle fi lms that take time to build characters and approach their

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points. Our impatience impels fi lmmakers to oversimplify, goose up their movies with action, or avoid talk. Films today must grab us and take us for a fast ride not only because of our TV orientation but also and signifi cantly because movie audiences are young; the majority of moviegoers are under twenty- four years of age, raised on hand- held gaming devices and joystick video games, with their entire consciousness shaped by virtual reality experiences. And this is the only segment of the audience that is growing. The bigger this part of the audience gets, the more moviemakers go after it and the less articulate their movies become.

Some scholars of politics and popular culture, however, argue that the impact of fi lm upon political life is far more potent than that implied by the experience itself. According to James Combs, movies have a direct and profound impact on our entire political system:

In the twentieth century, the movies have been a central aspect of the American popular experience. They have expanded and enriched the popular imagination while deriving much of what they depicted from that imagination. The relationship between the mov-ies and us is truly transactional, an interplay of the infl uence between moviemakers and movie audiences (as well as the larger population and power structure) that takes subtle twists and turns in the relationship as time goes by. The imagination of moviemakers extends popular experience, and the experience of movie- watching extends the popular imagination. Although we shall never know for sure, it seems reasonable to conclude that the movie experiences have made a difference in the shaping of our national imagina-tion, in other words, that we would not be whom we are, nor do what we do, without the movies. 67

Perhaps identifying and verifying the true impact of movies on American politics is indeed impossible. Intuitively, however, Combs’s argument is a strong one, and students of politics ignore the world of movies and their political messages at their peril. Politicians themselves do not think they have that luxury. During the 2013 awards season, Vice Presi-dent Joe Biden invited David O. Russell and Bradley Cooper, the director and the star of Silver Linings Playbook , to the White House to discuss mental health issues, a bedrock issue in the popular fi lm. Of the infl uence of movies on public perception, Biden said, “Sometimes movies do what governments can’t.” 68

Notes

1 . Dan Gurskis, The Short Screenplay: Your Short Film from Concept to Production (Boston: Cen-gage Learning, 2006), p. 179.

2 . Walid Habboub, “Movieball,” 2004, www.boxoffi ceprophets.com/column/index.cfm?columnID=8353.

3 . Ryan Nakashima, “Hollywood and Big Budget Movies: Is the Love Affair Over?” 2011, www.huffi ngtonpost.com/2011/09/17/hollywood- big- budget- movies_n_967559.html.

4 . The Numbers, www.the- numbers.com/movies/records/budgets.php. 5 . Claudia Eller, “Studios Struggle to Reign In Movie Marketing Costs,” 2009, http://articles.

latimes.com/2009/apr/20/business/fi – ct- movies20. 6 . Larry Gerbrandt, “How Much Does Movie Marketing Matter?” www.reuters.com/article/2010/

06/11/us- industry- idUSTRE65A13Q20100611. 7 . Phillip L. Gianos, Politics and Politicians in American Film (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1995), p. 1. 8 . “ House of Cards and the Decline of Cable,” The New Yorker , www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/

culture/2013/02/house- of- cards- and- the- death- of- cable.html#ixzz2K4yinmJU.

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9 . Quoted in Glenn Lovell, “Frankenheimer Back in High Gear,” San Jose Mercury News , Novem-ber 16, 1986.

10 . Michael Cieply, “The Sniping of Partisans, This Time on the Screen,” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/2011/10/20/movies/hollywood- revs- up- partisan- fi lms- a- year- ahead- of- election.html?_r=0.

11 . Michael Medved, Hollywood vs. America (New York: Harper Perennial, 1992), pp. 10, 216. 12 . “Hollywood Studios Accused of Pushing Liberal Agenda Through Children’s Films,” Hollywood

Reporter , www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/happy- feet- two- politics- childrens- movie- 267827. 13 . Stephen Holden, New York Times Speakers Series , June 10, 2004. 14 . Mark Harris, “The Day the Movies Died,” Gentleman’s Quarterly , http://www.gq.com/

entertainment/movies- and- tv/201102/the- day- the- movies- died- mark- harris. 15 . Gianos, p. 3. 16 . Hana Shams Riazuddin, “Why Avatar Is a Truly Dangerous Film,” Ceasefi re , http://ceasefi re

magazine.co.uk/why- avatar- is- a- truly- dangerous- fi lm/. 17 . Lisa Wade, “On Avatar the Movie,” Sociological Images , http://thesocietypages.org/

socimages/2009/12/28/on- avatar- the- movie- spoiler- alert/. 18 . This tendency may owe to the fact that, despite decades of change, Hollywood remains a pre-

dominantly white, male institution. Those most responsible for making movies, unconsciously or not, refl ect their own cultural positioning in the movies they make.

19 . Gianos, p. 8. 20 . A.O. Scott, “The Kingdom,” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/2007/09/28/movies/28king.

html?_r=1&. 21 . Louis Giannetti, Understanding Movies , 7th ed. (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1996),

p. 293. 22 . Ibid., p. 445. 23 . Ibid., p. 449. 24 . Peter Biskind, Seeing Is Believing: How Hollywood Taught Us to Stop Worrying and Love the

Fifties (New York: Pantheon, 1995), p. 5. 25 . William Goldman, Adventures in the Screen Trade (New York: Warner, 1983), pp. 100, 102. 26 . Terrence Rafferty, “Now Playing: Auteur vs. Auteur,” New York Times , www.nytimes.

com/2006/10/22/movies/22raff.html?pagewanted=all. 27 . Roger Ebert, “ She Hate Me ,” www.rogerebert.com/reviews/she- hate- me- 2004. 28 . Robynn J. Stilwell, “Breaking Sound Barriers: Bigelow’s Soundscapes from The Loveless to Blue

Steel ,” in The Cinema of Kathryn Bigelow: Hollywood Transgressor , ed. Deborah Jermyn and Sean Redmond (London: Wallfl ower Press, 2003), pp. 49–50.

29 . Naomi Wolf, “A Letter to Kathryn Bigelow,” The Guardian , www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/jan/04/letter- kathryn- bigelow- zero- dark- thirty.

30 . Steven Abrahams, “Buying Nashville,” Jump Cut 9 (1975): 7. 31 . Jody Rosen, “Django Unchained: Original Soundtrack,” Rolling Stone , Reviews, www.rolling-

stone.com/music/albumreviews/django- unchained- original- soundtrack- 20130114. 32 . Randy Lewis, “Quentin Tarantino Discusses the Music of Django Unchained,” Los Angeles

Times , http://articles.latimes.com/2012/dec/25/entertainment/la- et- ms- quentin- tarantino- django- unchained- music- soundtrack- streaming- 20121224.

33 . David Bordwell, “Observations on Film Art,” blog, www.davidbordwell.net/blog/2007/05/27/intensifi ed- continuity- revisited/.

34 . French fi lm critics dubbed the medium-long shot the “American shot” due to its prevalent use in Hollywood movies of the classical era (1930s–1950s). The framing is wide enough to show set-ting or background or to include a number of actors yet close enough for viewers to discern facial expression.

35 . Using a software program called CineMetrics, developed by Gunars Civjans, psychologist James Cutting determined that “the average shot length of English language fi lms has declined from about 12 seconds in 1930 to about 2.5 seconds today.” He calculated the average shot length in the James Bond fi lm, Quantum of Solace (2008), at 1.7 seconds. Here he also explains how a fl uctua-tion of varying takes (or shot lengths) holds viewer attention. Quoted in Greg Miller, “Data From

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a Century of Cinema Reveals How Movies Have Evolved,” www.wired.com/2014/09/cinema- is- evolving/. For more on how shot length (or duration of takes) affects fi lm meaning, see the CineMetrics website, http://www.cinemetrics.lv/index.php.

36 . Giannetti, pp. 83– 84. 37 . Charles Derry, The Suspense Thriller: Films in the Shadow of Alfred Hitchock (Jefferson, NC:

McFarland) 1995. 38 . Gianos, p. 38. 39 . Leo Braudy, The World in a Frame: What We See in Films (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,

2002), pp. 186–187. 40 . Giannetti, p. 297. 41 . Judd Blaise, “Natural Born Killers,” All Movie, www.allmovie.com/movie/natural- born- killers-

v132230. 42 . Mark Crispin Miller, “Advertising,” in Seeing Through Movies , ed. Mark Crispin Miller (New

York: Pantheon, 1990). 43 . “Alcohol in ‘Flight’ puts trademark laws in focus,” CBS News, www.cbsnews.com/8301- 207_

162- 57545611/alcohol- in- fl ight- puts- trademark- laws- in- focus/. 44 . James Monaco, How to Read a Film: The Art, Technology, Language, History and Theory of Film

and Media , 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981), p. 220. 45 . Early fi lm actors themselves did not want to be credited for fi lm work because they also were

theater stars, or struggling to be so, and did not want fi lm work to discredit them in the legitimate acting arena. When fans themselves started inquiring after actors who reappeared in several fi lms, production companies started promoting their recurring stars and then fan magazines proliferated, exploiting the stars’ images.

46 . Monaco, p. 222. 47 . By way of compensation for the lack of black actors in central roles, a different stereotypical role

for blacks emerged in the late 1970s: the black judge whose on- screen time is minimal but who nonetheless seems important by virtue of wearing judicial robes.

48 . Giannetti, p. 516. 49 . “Rupert Everett: Movie Business Is Anti- gay,” BBC News, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/

programmes/hardtalk/9784435.stm. 50 . Gianos, p. 29. 51 . Ibid., p. 28. 52 . “Meryl Streep Slams Hollywood’s ‘Big Tentpole Failures,’” Hollywood Reporter , www.

hollywoodreporter.com/news/meryl- streep- women- in- fi lm- speech- 337788. 53 . Manohla Dargis, “Gran Torino,” New York Times , http://movies.nytimes.com/2008/12/12/movies/

12tori.html?_r=1&. 54 . Quoted in Tom Schatz, “The Studio System and Conglomerate Hollywood,” www.

blackwellpublishing.com/content/BPL_Images/Content_store/Sample_chapter/9781405133876/9781405133876_C01.pdf, p. 13.

55 . Ibid., p. 22. 56 . David Edelstein, “Hollywood’s Blockbuster Problem,” Vulture , www.vulture.com/2013/06/

george- lucas- steven- spielberg- on- hollywood- blockbusters.html. 57 . Gary Susman, “Is Hollywood Model Doomed?” Rolling Stone , www.rollingstone.com/movies/

news/is- hollywood- model- doomed- steven- spielberg- and- george- lucas- think- so- 20130815. 58 . “George Clooney to Hedge Fund Honcho Daniel Loeb: Stop Spreading Fear at Sony,” Deadline

Hollywood , www.deadline.com/2013/08/george- clooney- slams- sony- investor- daniel- loeb/. 59 . Douglas Gomery, “Conglomerates in the Film Industry,” in The Political Companion to American

Film , ed. Gary Crowdus (Chicago: Lake View Press, 1994), pp. 71–74. 60 . Gianos, p. 25. 61 . Michael Wood, America in the Movies (New York: Basic Books, 1975), p. 22. 62 . Siegfried Kracauer, From Caligari to Hitler (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1974),

p. 5. 63 . Randall M. Miller, The Kaleidoscope Lens (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Ozer, 1980), p. 13. 64 . F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Last Tycoon: An Unfi nished Novel (New York: Scribner’s, 1969), p. 125.

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65 . Costa- Gavras, Guardian Lecture , National Film Theatre, London, March 16, 1984. 66 . San Jose Mercury News , August 17, 1986. 67 . James E. Combs, American Political Movies: An Annotated Filmography of Feature Films (New

York: Garland, 1990), p. ix. 68 . Steven Zeitchik, “For David O. Russell, an entry in his own ‘Silver Linings Playbook,’” Los

Angeles Times , www.latimes.com/2013/feb/08/entertainment/la- et- mn- for- david- o- russell- a- real- life- silver- linings- playbook- 20130208.

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Causes and Special Effects The Political Environment of Film

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This book focuses mostly on the content of movies themselves and how it may create politi-cal messages and therefore potentially affect the political system. However, as we noted in Chapter 1, the relationship between politics and fi lm is scarcely a one- way street: the politi-cal system interacts directly with the world of fi lm in a variety of ways. In fact, in many instances it is diffi cult to ascertain which is affecting which. For example, a study of Ameri-can movie plots from 1920 to 1960 found a sharp rise in the number that portrayed “foreign elements as a danger to the hero/heroine” from 1940 to 1944. 1 Presumably, fi lmmakers were responding to the threat of World War II as they created movies with foreign villains. At the same time, however, these movies portraying “foreign” danger were intended to shore up popular support for American war efforts and might be viewed as propaganda. So these fi lms refl ected the political reality of the times, but also were intended to affect it.

On a much more individual scale, some observers noted that when President George W. Bush celebrated the putative end of hostilities in the Iraqi war in 2003 by landing on an air-craft carrier in a jet fi ghter, the resulting image strongly resembled the movie Independence Day (1996), in which a president fl ies a fi ghter plane to battle alien invaders. Did this movie inspire President Bush or his staff to re- create the scene and somehow profi t politically from the resemblance? Or did the movie merely seek to reinforce the common stereotype of the president as superhero- savior?

In 1973, iconic actor Marlon Brando famously declined his Academy Award and sent in his stead the Native American actress Sacheen Littlefeather to shame Hollywood for its his-tory of degrading portrayals of Indians and to announce Brando’s support for the political protests of the American Indian Movement. When fi lmmaker Michael Moore accepted an Oscar in March 2003, his brief speech included the following broadside: “We live in a time where fi ctitious election results give us a fi ctitious president. We are now fi ghting a war for fi ctitious reasons. Whether it’s the fi ction of duct tape or the fi ctitious ‘Orange Alerts,’ we are against this war, Mr. Bush. Shame on you, Mr. Bush, shame on you.” 2 Moore’s comments brought fi lm- based political controversy about the war into American living rooms and made him a bête noire among conservative commentators.

In 2008, Laura Linney inserted herself into the nation’s politics when, accepting her Best Actress Emmy award for her role in the biopic John Adams , she rebuked Republican vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin’s sarcasm about Barack Obama’s history as a community organizer, saying that the founding fathers’ miniseries made her “grateful and thankful for the community organizers that helped form our country.” During that same campaign sea-son, The Bourne Identity ’s Matt Damon drew Republican ire when he said he feared the prospect of Sarah Palin ever having the nuclear codes. In 2011, Damon further burnished his liberal credentials by appearing in Washington for a march in support of teachers and calling Washington’s debt ceiling debate “disgusting.” He said wealthy people like himself should pay more taxes, virtual heresy to the rising Tea Party movement and hardcore Republicans. And in fall 2014, movie star environmentalists Leonardo DiCaprio ( Titanic , 1997; J. Edgar , 2011; Wolf of Wall Street , 2013) and Mark Ruffalo ( In The Cut , 2003; The Avengers , 2012; Now You See Me , 2013) joined New York Mayor Bill de Blasio, former Vice President Al Gore, Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders, and 300,000 other activists in “The People’s Cli-mate March,” a globally organized protest timed with a United Nations summit on carbon emissions. (The previous week DiCaprio was named U.N. Messenger of Peace for his com-mitment to environmental causes.) DiCaprio and Ruffalo’s participation headlined many mainstream news accounts, raising the protest’s profi le at the same time as the demonstration

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emphasized a bottom- up approach to climate change. Drawing prominent stars and leading political fi gures, the march was still an event of the “people” meant to push world leaders to act (“think globally, act locally”). The planning and corporate media reporting of the event also point to the worldwide demonstration as a notable example of the deep imbrication of celebrity culture and political activism. Here the star is both “just like us”—as a regular feature in the tabloid US Magazine puts it—and signifi cantly different, able to wield politi-cal infl uence rarely available to ordinary citizens—unless they are joined by hundreds of thousands of others.

Why do such collisions between Hollywood and politics occur? How do entertainment- industry fi gures like Damon and DiCaprio participate in the political process, and with what impact? The complicated relationships between the world of movies and the real world of politics are frequently diffi cult to distinguish, not the least because the political world itself is so heavily mediated. By this we mean that what the public knows of politics it learns primarily through the media, especially television news but also Hollywood fi lms. In this chapter, we focus on aspects of movies and moviemaking that are generally external to the movies themselves. We explore the various ways in which the world of politics (and eco-nomics) seems to affect the movies and the movie industry, generally recognizing that the relationship is usually bilateral.

The Red Scare and McCarthyism: HUAC and Hollywood

The most obvious and perhaps most noteworthy impingement of politics into the world of fi lm was the Red Scare of the late 1940s. The House Un- American Activities Committee (HUAC) of the U.S. Congress presided over a ruthless interrogation of fi lm and television

To make a political statement about the plight of American Indians on behalf of actor Marlon Brando during the 1973 Academy Awards television broadcast, Sacheen Littlefeather declines Brando’s Best Actor Oscar from presenters Roger Moore and Liv Ullman.

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industry fi gures. Claiming that Hollywood had been subverted by foreign Communists, HUAC used hearings to publicly expose alleged agents of the Soviet Union. The greater impact of the HUAC hearings was the response by Hollywood, which was essentially to blacklist individuals who refused to cooperate with the committee by providing it with names of their associates who might have been involved with the Communist Party. By refusing to hire suspected Communists or party sympathizers Hollywood moved to protect its image with the ticket- buying public much the way it had during the 1920s and 1930s when scandals over the exploits of stars on and off the screen and backlash against fi lm content by civic and religious groups threatened both its bottom line and freedom from government rule. In both instances the movie industry tried to circumvent outside control of its product and profi ts by preemptively censoring movies and policing actors, directors, and writers. With HUAC, Hollywood moved to expunge the appearance of Communist infl u-ence before Congress could either pass restrictive, wide- reaching regulations or tarnish the cinema’s reputation with audiences, or both.

The House Un- American Activities Committee discovered Hollywood in 1939 when it held its fi rst hearing on subversion in the fi lm industry. The committee returned in 1947 to begin investigations that resulted in a cause célèbre, the Hollywood Ten—a group of movie-makers who were jailed on a charge of contempt of Congress for refusing to talk about their political activities. The Hollywood Ten included Edward Dmytryk, Dalton Trumbo, and John Howard Lawson—all of whom had directed or written political fi lms. Hollywood at fi rst rallied to their defense, then cravenly backed off and introduced the infamous blacklist, systematically refusing to employ more than 300 men and women who had allegedly sup-ported leftist causes or held Communist political sympathies. The investigation continued until well into the 1950s, destroying many careers and helping others, and infl uencing the kinds of movies that were or were not made.

The fi lm industry was not the only major American institution that was investigated by the anti- Communist crusaders, but it was a special attraction because of the massive press coverage it produced and because of the presumed power of the movies. Besides, Holly-wood really was a center of liberal and even Communist political activity. The Communist Party had made the industry a special organizing target in 1936, a move that refl ected the Leninist belief in the power of cinema as political propaganda. 3 (“Of all the arts, cinema for us is the most important,” declared Lenin in 1922, organizing Soviet fi lmmaking so that it would stir the working class to revolutionary consciousness. 4 ) Proclaiming that movies are “the weapon of mass culture,” the party organizers urged their recruits at a minimum to “keep anti- Soviet agitprop” out of the movies they worked on. 5 The Communist Party had some recruiting success during the Great Depression, the New Deal years, and the Spanish Civil War, but news of Stalin’s purges and the Nazi- Soviet nonaggression pact stopped its advances. In the 1950s, HUAC fi nished it off.

Communist infi ltration of Hollywood was never very successful, however, and the inves-tigators probably knew it. They found a lot of fi lm people who leaned to the left, but HUAC never came up with evidence of undue party infl uence on the movies. The investigators kept looking, however, because they were less interested in reality than in publicity, and glamorous Hollywood provided plenty of that. Besides, the investigations gave ambitious, conservative congressmen like Richard Nixon a chance to attack people they did not like much anyway—for many of Hollywood’s elite were rich, Jewish, liberal, Democratic, and perceived as intellectually arrogant.

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The HUAC investigations provided an opportunity for politicians to bring mighty Hol-lywood to its knees, and they did. Dozens of fi lm workers were jailed, usually for contempt of Congress as defi ned by their refusal to testify against their friends. Others were forced to inform on friends and coworkers to save their own careers.

Even the unions joined the purge, after initially resisting. “Do they [HUAC] expect us to constitute ourselves as a little FBI of our own and determine just who is a commie and who isn’t?” a young Ronald Reagan reasonably demanded as president of the Screen Actors Guild (SAG), but soon he, too, was testifying that there were cliques in SAG that “follow the Communist party line.” 6 Liberals also joined the purge, and some Hollywood Jews became particularly vigorous anti- Communists because they were afraid the attacks would turn anti- Semitic. 7 Once the united front was broken, the members of the fi lm industry were on their own. Some, like director Elia Kazan and Ronald Reagan, cooperated fully with the committee. Others, like writer Dalton Trumbo, resisted and went to jail. Still others, like playwright Lillian Hellman, talked about their own activities but refused to name anyone else, famously declaring, “I will not tailor my conscience to fi t this day’s style.”

Ironically, the investigators found little evidence of subversion in the testimony of those who were willing to talk. Walt Disney alleged that the Cartoonists Guild had tried to “subvert” Mickey Mouse. Ginger Rogers’s mother testifi ed that her daughter had been given the line “Share and share alike—that’s democracy” in Tender Comrade (see Chapter 4), a fi lm written by Dalton Trumbo and directed by Edward Dmytryk, both members of the Hollywood Ten. Conservative novelist Ayn Rand cited “a suspicious number of smiling children” in Song of Russia and also pointed out certain suspicious elements in Mission to Moscow and The North Star . 8 All three movies were transparently pro- Russian, however, because they had been made with government encouragement to strengthen the U.S.–Soviet alliance during World War II. They were not hits, and they were poor evidence of a Com-munist conspiracy.

For all its efforts, HUAC never came up with much evidence of Communist propaganda in American movies, much less a massive conspiracy. Most of those accused had worked on patriotic war movies as well as projects that refl ected a liberal ideology. In fact, Hollywood’s radicals never got much beyond defending President Theodore Roosevelt and attacking fas-cism. Dorothy Jones’s detailed analysis of 300 fi lms on which Hollywood “Reds” had worked reveals that some were “vaguely liberal,” but none contained actual Communist propaganda. Furthermore, “none of the 159 fi lms credited over a period of years to the Hollywood Ten con-tained communist propaganda” or were cited by the conservative Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) for such content. Jones argues that the collegial method of making fi lms fragmented responsibility and muted any propaganda, while “the habitual caution of movie-makers with respect to fi lm content” and the “self- regulating practices of the motion picture industry as carried on by the Motion Picture Association” were further preventives. 9

HUAC, however, did not require evidence to act. The impact of the hearings and the blacklisting on Hollywood was immense. As the HUAC hearings proceeded, it became vir-tually impossible to bankroll a fi lm with a leftist message. Instead, between 1947 and 1954 almost forty “explicitly propagandistic anti- Communist fi lms” were made in Hollywood, 10 including such formidable viewing fare as The Red Menace (1949), I Married a Communist (1950), and I Was a Communist for the FBI (1951) (see Chapter 7). Although nearly all of these movies lost money, the studios continued to put the products out, hoping to avoid fur-ther controversy. (We discuss the creation of propaganda per se later in this chapter.)

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Many progressive fi lm workers were driven out of the industry after the 1947 hearings, and many more followed after another round of hearings that began in 1951. A few committed suicide, some were imprisoned, others went into exile, and many merely went underground. Those who continued working avoided political subjects or social issues. Jones discovered that while fully 28 percent of Hollywood productions in 1947 dealt with “social and psy-chological themes,” only 9.2 percent fi t into this category by 1954. She concludes that the HUAC attack was based less on real concern with the Communist threat than on a “fear . . . of movies getting serious about social and political problems.” 11 Besides digging through Hollywood’s past, the investigations intended to infl uence its future, and they did. At the time, movies dared not address the investigations or blacklisting except as allegory. Hol-lywood turned to genres like the western and the horror fi lm to mask the real subject of its commentary. Paced to unfold in actual time, High Noon (1953) makes a hero out of a retiring marshal when he stays to defend a town defi ned by cowardice and treachery. Like coopera-tive HUAC witnesses the townspeople abandon their marshal, but like the Hollywood Ten he stands by his word and by them.

The blacklist was eventually broken, and eventually many of those the Red Scare had demonized the Hollywood community later recognized as heroes. Several movies ( The Front , 1976; Guilty by Suspicion , 1991; Good Night , and Good Luck , 2005) have dealt with the period in a way that depicts the blacklisted individuals and their defenders as vic-tims and/or heroes, and their accusers as evil incarnate. The dramatic divide between those opposed to HUAC and those who cooperated features in the sentimental love story The Way We Were (1973), one of Hollywood’s earliest open depictions of its sordid blacklisting past. In fact, beyond the fi lms themselves, a sort of backlash has occurred, as some individuals who were known to have cooperated with HUAC became themselves the object of scorn and isolation from the Hollywood mainstream. In 1999, when the Academy Awards decided to honor cooperative witness Elia Kazan with an honorary Oscar almost half a century later, many in Hollywood objected. Protesters picketed the event with signs that read, “Don’t Whitewash the Blacklist.” The controversy threatened to overwhelm the ceremony. In the end, however, some of the audience remained silently seated while even Guilty by Suspicion star Robert DeNiro and famously left- leaning Warren Beatty stood to applaud the eighty- nine- year- old Kazan.

The chief impact of this period in fi lm history is to clearly illustrate the potentially awe-some infl uence of the government on free and creative expression. “When the question was raised, the moguls of Hollywood and Madison Avenue came to heel at the behest of a congressional committee without formal authority over them as meekly as the most obedi-ent member of the Soviet cultural committees under Stalin and Khrushchev,” writes one scholar. 12 Contemporary advocates of free expression frequently invoke the misdeeds of the era when defending the industry against its critics. Some contend that the entire episode marked a turning point for American fi lms, transforming them from frequently progressive and artistically challenging vehicles to vacuous and politically toothless entertainment . 13

Censorship and Regulation

Another important way that politics affects movies is by means of the government’s author-ity (or potential authority) to regulate and censor the fi lm industry. While many early movie studios practiced a form of self- censorship simply by creating movies aimed at the widest

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audience possible, others saw profi t in exploiting the medium’s salacious potential, while still others viewed the new medium as a soapbox for political and social commentary. Even in their earliest days, movies courted controversy both intentionally in stories about abortion ( Where Are My Children? , 1916) and unintentionally in displays of racial harmony ( Broken Blossoms , 1919). Almost immediately the country’s moral guardians sensed danger in the power of movies to infl uence viewers’ behaviors and beliefs.

Legislative and civic crusades against the feared effects of cinematic entertainment began as early as 1906 by which time early movie houses called nickelodeons had proliferated throughout urban America and beyond. While traditional theater had frequently excluded lower class and immigrant populations, the cheaper priced, more culturally accessible nickelodeons catered to them. Politicians and newspaper editorialists worried, however, that both the movies and the exhibition conditions or general atmosphere of the nickelo-deons subjected these groups to a “carnival of vulgarity, suggestiveness, and violence” and to a “moral leprosy” that posed a serious “menace to the morals of the community and the healthy development of the social organism.” 14 As one- reelers were succeeded by longer form, more narratively involved fi lms, anxiety over their social, cultural, and political infl u-ence intensifi ed. A patchwork of local and state censorship laws and review bodies resulted, including in 1909 the creation of the National Board of Censorship. Made up of members from groups like the Women’s Municipal League and the Federation of Churches, the board enjoyed industry cooperation. (The studios cooperated as a way of exerting infl uence and staving off more coercive forms of outside control.) Aimed primarily at exhibitors, the cen-soring body’s recommendations had greatest impact in New York where the mayor had tried to close down those “carnivals of vulgarity,” the nickelodeons. 15

The watershed moment in the confl ict over state and municipal censorship efforts and the studios’ push– pull resistance to them occurred when the state of Ohio banned D.W. Griffi th’s controversial The Birth of a Nation in 1915. The subsequent lawsuit led the Supreme Court to rule that movies did not enjoy First Amendment protection, and more censorship laws followed. In Mutual Film Corporation vs. Ohio Industrial Commission the court reasoned that movies were a profi t- driven business and, unlike the informative print media, served no larger purpose than to make money; therefore, they did not merit freedom of the press or free speech rights. At the same time the justices warned that movies possessed “a capacity for evil.” That meant that legally movies were matters of interstate commerce, not forms of protected artistic expression, and therefore were subject to state regulation like other goods and services.

The court’s decision captured the dilemma that the burgeoning movie industry more or less recognized on its own. On the one hand, movies featuring scandalous storylines and suggestive performances sold tickets. On the other hand, stretching the country’s moral fab-ric too far risked rupture and backlash. When movie boycotts advocated by church offi cials led to declining profi ts, the studios took notice. Accordingly, the most notable era of aggres-sive, organized fi lm censorship in the United States did not occur at the hands of legislators but when the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA) attempted more vigorously than ever before to court public favor and preempt national censorship law by adopting the Motion Picture Production Code in 1930. Also called the Hays Code after its author, former Postmaster General Will Hays, the Production Code went far beyond simply prohibiting nudity and swearing in fi lms. It banned movies from depicting certain events or character types and encouraged stories that stressed respect for religious and civic authority.

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The change was palpable. In Cecil B. DeMille’s The Cheat (1915), a socialite steals from a charity to bet on the stock market to fund her lavish taste. The stock tanks and Edith resorts to trading her favors for money with an “Oriental” (Japanese) ivory dealer, Tori. When her husband strikes it rich and she tries to pay back the money, Tori brands her skin to stake his claim. Edith shoots him, and her husband takes the blame but is exonerated when she reveals her brand in court. Almost twenty years later, the Production Code explicitly prohibited depiction of the “repellant subject” of branding people.

By the end of World War I and the dawn of the Jazz Age, pioneer moviemakers like D.W. Griffi th, Lois Weber, and Cecile B. DeMille had made the movies a widely accepted art form with an expanding middle- and upper- class audience. Each of these directors rep-resented a particular slant on politically relevant fi lmmaking: Griffi th tackled sweeping controversial historical sagas ( Birth of a Nation and Intolerance , 1916), Weber addressed social issues like birth control and poverty ( The Blot , 1921), and DeMille couched sex and sensuality in Biblical epics to reinforce traditional patriarchal Christian views ( The Ten Commandments , 1923; King of Kings , 1927). About the time silent fi lms gave way to “talk-ies” featuring characters who could verbalize their heretofore only implied motivations and desires, the nation’s economic, intellectual, and religious elite grew concerned that the infl u-ence of fi lms might be immoral and subversive. The greater expressive power that sound provided the movies worried civic leaders, but the fact that immigrants and Jews dominated the industry made elite Yankees and outspoken Midwestern Catholics even more nervous, and they soon advocated government inspection of movies. Robert Sklar argues that “the struggle over movies was an aspect of the struggle between classes,” with the proponents of censorship demanding the suppression of “any idea or image harmful to the moral, social or political health of the state.” 16

By the early 1920s, eight states and ninety cities had established censors, and in 1922 the public outcry over a widely reported Hollywood sex scandal involving Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle, a comedian with an on-screen image vastly at odds with the criminal charges against him, produced demands for national censorship. Filmmakers reacted defensively by forming the MPPDA with Will H. Hays, former chair of the Republican National Committee and a political crony of President Warren G. Harding, as its executive. The Hays Offi ce was hyped as a self- policing effort by a concerned industry, but it was really a symbolic action intended to ward off government censorship and a separate, potentially looming threat as unwelcome to the studios as censorship laws: binding antitrust arbitration. For 1930 marked not only the establishment of the Motion Picture Production Code but also the year that major fi lm studios were found guilty of violating antitrust laws. After striking a deal with the government under the auspices of the National Industrial Recovery Act, the studios returned to business as usual but now they were on notice. The widely publicized misbehavior of actors, including drug use, and the expansion by the big studios into every layer of their trade (i.e., the production, distribution, and exhibition of movies) occurred more or less simultane-ously. A monopolistic ambition, expansion like that required capital. To secure capital the studios could not risk looking to Wall Street like a shaky investment subject to greater fed-eral inspection and regulation and open to other lawsuits. The MPPDA’s Hays Offi ce needed to contain one threat—boycotts and calls for censorship—to stave off the other, government interference in their business model.

Hays recognized that his chief duty was to protect the studios’ fi nancial interests. On the heels of Arbuckle’s trial for rape and murder in a 1923 address to the MPPDA Committee on

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Public Relations, Hays staked out his allegiances: “You must get the angle of the men who have fi ve hundred million dollars invested, who started this business. They started some-thing and they have fi ve hundred million dollars invested. It is a thing to be recognized and reckoned with.” At the same time he declared his job “no gentleman’s agreement,” but a “Cause.” Repeatedly promising that he would not “judge the morals of the people in the industry,” he also pledged to “cut out the fi lth immediately.” To “cut out the fi lth” in an act he describes as “heroic,” Hays banned the release of any more Arbuckle fi lms and effectively banned Arbuckle from “any employment in the industry on the coast.” 17 After three differ-ent trials, Arbuckle was ultimately found not guilty but by then his career was mostly over and the legacy of the public reaction to his case lived on in the increasingly ambitious and forceful Hays Offi ce.

In 1927, the Hays Offi ce issued a list of “don’ts” and “be carefuls,” warning the industry to keep away from certain subjects, including drug addiction, sexual deviance, miscegenation, and nudity. Any violations of the Ten Commandments, or the Hays amendments to them, were permissible only if the perpetrators ended unhappily. Individual clergy and politicians could appear comical or corrupt but religious and governmental institutions could not be undermined. Crime could never pay nor could behavior like adultery be depicted in a posi-tive light. Hollywood could titillate its audience, but the fi nal message had to be that sinners were punished. By 1930 the “dos” and “don’ts” had been codifi ed into the expansive Produc-tion Code. Restrictions included “The use of the Flag shall be consistently respectful” while moral reasoning included “Correct entertainment raises the whole standard of a nation.” Gender-specifi c rules included “dances with movement of the breasts violate decency and are wrong.” 18

The uneasy bargain studios struck with government offi cials and the public took time to yield the desired effect. At the Code’s beginning, studios enjoyed a period now called the “pre- Code” or “Forbidden Hollywood” era. Despite Hays’ “heroic” actions like blacklisting Arbuckle, from 1930 to 1934 neither the letter nor the spirit of the Code was effectively enforced, and fi lmmakers fl outed censorship rules with impunity. Stars like Mae West and Joan Crawford built entire careers playing to the shifting moral standards of the day, espe-cially those regarding gender and sexuality, and directors like William Wellman created some of the most radical images ever to haunt the silver screen. Wellman’s pre- Code work illustrated adultery in Other Men’s Women (1931), starvation of children for profi t in Night Nurse (1931), and prostitution in Frisco Jenny (1932) and Midnight Mary (1933).

The symbolism of the Code—issued but not enforced—represented not simply the growing pains of an infl uential, economically powerful industry working out its role in a time of technological and social fl ux but an entire culture, including the body politic, at war with itself over issues as fundamental as how to respond to the economic Depression, whether and where women belonged in the public spheres of work and government, and the relationship between ethnicity, race, citizenship, and the right to vote. Pre- Code movies illustrated resistance to marriage but not to sex and romance in Illicit (1931), prostitution and marriage for profi t in The Purchase Price (1932) and Baby Face (1933), love across racial lines in The Bitter Tea of General Yen (1933), metaphoric cross- species sexuality in Frankenstein (1931) and King Kong (1933), and economic injustice and political corrup-tion in Wild Boys of the Road (1933), Heroes for Sale (1933), This Day and Age (1933), and Gabriel Over the White House (1933). Faced with increasing boycotts from groups like the National Legion of Decency and pressure from the failing economy, the MPPDA soon

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determined it had to get serious about content and did so by forming the Production Code Administration (PCA) to put teeth to the virtually hollow Code. In 1934, staunch Catholic lay- leader Joseph Breen took over as head of the PCA. Soon every script had to meet his approval before beginning production. All movies had to receive his offi ce’s literal seal of approval, played at each fi lm’s start, or face steep fi nes and be blocked from mainstream distribution and exhibition—a fi nancial fate far worse than losing scenes to the censor’s cutting- room fl oor.

Though rarely specifi cally directed at political fi lms, this censorship must have discour-aged those who considered producing such movies. Some observers argue that the limits on expression created by the Hays Code were a primary reason for the near disappearance of social and political criticism from a once- progressive mainstream fi lm industry. Others postulate that by forbidding subversive expression, censorship forced movies to cultivate a more sophisticated visual language to signify criminal attitudes, sexual innuendo, and political critique. Alfred Hitchcock’s suspenseful scenes of characters chasing each other atop sacred national monuments like the Statue of Liberty ( Saboteur , 1942) and across the presidential faces memorialized in the “Shrine of Democracy” at Mount Rushmore ( North by Northwest , 1959) mock nationalistic pride and patriotic myths. In fact, the Department of Interior disapproved of the struggle- to- the- death between Communist and CIA spies at the end of North by Northwest as a desecration of the famous monument and requested—futilely—that the MPAA alter the Code to prevent such scenes in the future. 19 Likewise, Hitchcock’s Notorious (1946) undercuts the image of postwar U.S. foreign involvement by portraying the American spy agency as cavalier, its chief agent lounging on a bed, eating, drinking, and otherwise taking a casual attitude as he orders others to put their lives on the line. While all these scenes made it past the censor, an attentive audience discerned subver-sive meaning.

Perhaps the politically cautious motion pictures of the 1920s refl ected a decade of pros-perity, isolationism, and dull, conservative presidents. The emergence of the big studios also

The climax of North by Northwest (1959) pits a man mistaken for an American spy against foreign agents in a deadly fi ght on the Mount Rushmore national monument.

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must have contributed to the caution and conservatism among political fi lmmakers. Like factories, these studios churned out movies feverishly for an ever- expanding audience as fi lmmaking enterprises left New York and elsewhere to concentrate in Hollywood. There the business solidifi ed into a vertically integrated system in which the largest studios controlled all aspects of the fi lmmaking process, including the production, distribution, and exhibition of most American fi lms. The near- monopolistic control of the industry by the big studios discouraged independent- minded fi lmmakers and led to reliance on traditional plots and genres, with only slight variations. Chain of command also meant that directors did not have the last word on a fi lm’s fi nal version. Thus studio executives tacked on awkwardly happy endings even to pre- Code fi lms as diverse as Frankenstein , Baby Face , and Wild Boys of the Road , tying a pretty bow around the socially and politically controversial scenes that came before. The sheer volume of fi lms being produced—as many as 800 a year in the 1920s and ’30s—let some political and even less- than- conservative movies slip through.

The enactment of the Hays Code was the result of pressure by religious and political lead-ers after release of objectionable fi lms and, more urgently, a series of Hollywood scandals in the 1920s that involved sex and drugs. Although it did not constitute government censorship per se—because members of the motion picture association complied voluntarily—the Code represented de facto censorship, making it diffi cult if not impossible for fi lms to deal with sensitive social issues or radical political topics. This remained the case despite revisions to the Code over the years, including language in the 1940s that justifi ed studio self- censorship to preclude “political dictatorship.” If the studios occasionally skirted and toyed with its provisions, the Code was still, on the whole, a highly effective means of limiting creative expression, one that did not require political debate. In the 1960s, however, broad soci-etal change (along with the collapse of the rigid Hollywood studio system after a series of antitrust court rulings) made the code obsolete. A reconfi gured industry group, the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), moved to create a new means of regulating fi lm content. Jack Valenti, a former fi ghter pilot with ties to the Kennedy and Johnson adminis-trations, was appointed president of the MPAA and charged with the challenge of creating a new, more workable system of regulating cinematic content.

Of this task, Valenti said,

From the very fi rst day of my own succession to the MPAA President’s offi ce, I had sniffed the Production Code constructed by the Hays Offi ce. There was about this stern, forbidding catalogue of “Dos and Don’ts” the odious smell of censorship. I determined to junk it at the fi rst opportune moment. I knew that the mix of new social currents, the irresistible force of creators determined to make “their” fi lms and the possible intrusion of government into the movie arena demanded my immediate action. 20

Working as quickly as his words would imply, Valenti created the ratings system still in effect today (with a few changes over the years). With that, he turned the MPAA president’s job from content watchdog to government lobbyist and business leader for the industry that paid his salary.

As was the case with the Hays Code, the MPAA ratings system does not represent overt censorship, since compliance is voluntary and the government is not formally involved in its machinations. Instead, a panel of from eight to thirteen individuals, whose views are supposed to refl ect those of the average American parent, constitutes the Classifi cation and

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Ratings Administration (CARA) or fi lm- rating board. CARA panelists—all of whom must be parents or former parents—view fi lms months before they are released and pronounce their ratings, using the now familiar G, PG, PG- 13, R, and NC- 17 rating scale. The PG- 13 rating was developed in the early 1980s as a harsher alternative to the “parental guidance suggested” PG rating and a milder warning than the “restricted” R rating. The PG- 13 rat-ing means “parents strongly cautioned” and warns “some material may be inappropriate for children under 13.” This system yields results especially when it comes to the age of the audience a fi lm hopes to draw. A recent case proves how vital achieving the appropriate rat-ing can be to a fi lm’s fortunes. To lure families into seats, Warner Bros. executives changed the title of their modern fairy tale Jack the Giant Killer to Jack the Giant Slayer (2013) and marketed the fi lm as both a familiar fable and a computer- generated- imagery (CGI) action- adventure fantasy worthy of a PG- 13 rating for violence. The muddled marketing and PG- 13 rating sent mixed messages to audiences, and the fi lm’s opening weekend earned back only a little more than 10 percent of its nearly $200 million production budget. Meanwhile, the PG- rated Oz The Great and Powerful (2013), also a lavish updating of a familiar children’s tale with roughly the same production budget, earned an opening close to half its budget despite receiving poor reviews. The difference? A clearer marketing strategy based on a solidly kid- friendly MPAA rating.

Whereas the fi lm rating system has undoubtedly freed movie creators to delve into more controversial (and politically charged) subject matter than during the days of the Hays Code, it is not without potential for censorship- like impacts on movies. The rating system places enormous pressure on fi lmmakers to change their work to suit the tastes of the CARA panel since, as Jack vs. Oz demonstrates, box offi ce receipts are highly sensi-tive to the fi lm ratings. Relatively few cinemas will show NC- 17 movies, and even fewer will show unrated movies.

What frequently occurs, therefore, is proactive editing by moviemakers in an effort to remove the NC- 17 stigma. This reportedly occurred in the case of 662 fi lms in 1998 alone. (Similar machinations also occur with respect to R rated movies seeking different ratings, although sometimes producers actually prefer an R- rating to a PG- 13 or PG rating.) Further-more, an unknown number of fi lms are either never made or are signifi cantly modifi ed to satisfy the ratings system. Says Chris Roth, “this scenario is unsettling because legal, adult- to- adult communication was eliminated.” 21 Roth quotes a representative of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) as saying, “The ‘look and feel’ of the fi lm can be changed when a sequence is cut or shortened. It is very diffi cult to put limits and bounds on things and pretend that the fi lm is not being signifi cantly altered.” 22 Additionally, the ratings system is frequently criticized for consistently allowing much more violence than sexual or other controversial content.

From time to time, the content of movies inspires political debate. In the election of 2000, Democratic vice presidential candidate Joe Lieberman made a series of high- profi le attacks on Hollywood and other entertainment outlets. Lieberman accused the fi lm industry specifi -cally of corrupting America’s culture and its children. Oddly, one of his attacks occurred shortly before the Democratic Party convention in Los Angeles as President Clinton was being feted by Hollywood stars at a fund- raising party. Lieberman warned that Washing-ton might impose legal restrictions if Hollywood fi lmmakers refused to “draw some lines themselves.” 23

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After the 2012 elementary school massacre of almost thirty people—most of them fi rst- graders—by a lone gunman in Newtown, Connecticut, the national debate turned from gun control to violent video games to Hollywood movies. In one poll, 70 percent of interviewees agreed that advertising for movies and television included too much violence; 34 percent believed that advertising for violent fi lms and television shows should have greater restric-tions. While 46 percent said Hollywood should make fewer movies that show violence and killing, three- quarters of respondents said, “it isn’t Congress’ or the president’s role to pres-sure Hollywood to make less- violent movies” (emphasis added). 24 Trying to defl ect attention from itself, the National Rifl e Association promoted the view that guns were less at fault for national gun violence like the Newtown killings than media glorifi cation of violence, par-ticularly video games and Hollywood fi lms. Politicians in the hot seat on gun control were fearful of the political pull of the NRA yet eager to appeal to constituents sickened by the massacre. So they, too, found video games, Hollywood, and the nexus formed between them in fi lms like the Lara Croft Tomb Raider and Resident Evil franchises easy to blame. Mean-while, the killing spree the summer before in a Colorado theater showing the premier of the last in the Batman movie trilogy, The Dark Knight Rises (2012), by a lone gunman with fi ery orange, apparently Joker- inspired hair, lingered in the nation’s consciousness.

A horrifi c crime and the killer’s mimicry of Batman’s nemesis from the trilogy’s sec-ond installment, The Dark Knight (2008), seemed to prove a cause- and- effect relationship between screen violence and real violence despite the anti- gun reputation of Batman himself. The massacre of moviegoers occurred at the opening of a frightening, apocalyptic fi lm but one also featuring a superhero openly scornful of guns and distinguished from his enemies by an adamant refusal to murder, a complicated irony lost on politicians eager to denounce Hollywood for political gain. Warner Bros. studio acknowledged if not complicity at least the centrality of its place in the debate by suspending publicity for the movie and pulling from theaters a trailer for a future release, Gangster Squad (2013), which depicts four men shooting up a movie theater. The trilogy’s director also felt compelled to issue a statement: “The movie theater is my home, and the idea that someone would violate that innocent and hopeful place in such an unbearably savage way is devastating to me.” 25 In the wake of the 9/11 terrorist attacks and after the Newtown shootings, the industry responded also by alter-ing or delaying release of certain content. During the 2012 presidential campaign and just after the election when the fi lm was released, the topics of leaked classifi ed information, national security, torture, and the events depicted or implied in Zero Dark Thirty (2012), including the question of who deserved the most credit for bringing down Osama bin Laden, also prompted heated political debate.

Although the content of American movies is a continuing source of public debate, in the case of Senator Lieberman’s campaign the issue was scarcely begging for comment. Instead, it appeared that the attacks were part of a conscious effort by Lieberman and presidential candidate Al Gore to give themselves a “hard moral edge” and distance themselves from the publicly perceived moral lapses of President Clinton. In fact, such attacks are rarely part of a serious policy agenda, and both parties use the fi lm industry as a whipping boy to impress that part of the electorate that responds to this sort of moral indignation. Although currently most in Hollywood appear to lean Democratic, it was not always so, and both parties accept millions of dollars in campaign contributions from the entertainment industry. Serious gov-ernment intervention into fi lmmaking seems unlikely in the near term, if ever.

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Political Involvement by Hollywood Celebrities and the Film Industry

An obvious and apparently growing phenomenon that further blurs the line between fi lm and politics is the enlistment of various members of the moviemaking industry into politi-cal campaigns and causes. Such involvement can run the gamut of what political scientists consider “political participation,” ranging from making donations to campaigns and politi-cal organizations to actually running for (and holding) political offi ce. (We discuss the latter case in a separate subsection.)

For many years, the actor who perhaps most exemplifi ed a political image to many Amer-icans was John Wayne. Most of his preeminence as a political icon stems from his fi lms, many of which he chose and altered to promulgate his political views. But Wayne was also an activist. In 1948 (amid the hoopla of the HUAC hearings on Hollywood), Wayne became president of the Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals, a group that had helped create the Red Scare by inviting HUAC to investigate Hollywood. In the 1960s, Wayne joined the infamous right- wing John Birch Society, a group that claimed that the U.S. government was secretly run by Communists. He publicly endorsed a number of conservative Republican candidates and over time became a symbol of that aspect of Ameri-can political life. 26 Wayne’s status as a political symbol is inextricable from his activities as a political participant.

Flashing forward several decades, we see that Hollywood celebrities have gradually become de rigueur fi xtures on the American political scene, visible and vocal participants in all types of political causes and campaigns. Bill Clinton’s campaigns fueled the practice and gained notoriety for including the fi nancial and in- kind support of Steven Spielberg, Barbra Streisand, Alec Baldwin, and a host of other Hollywood fi gures. Democrats have continued to enjoy the support of top actors with fund- raisers and public endorsements. Both of Barack Obama’s presidential campaigns attracted an array of celebrities, including Oprah Winfrey, George Clooney, Chris Rock, Ben Affl eck, Matt Damon, Tyler Perry, Tom Hanks, Anne Hathaway, and Spike Lee. Eva Longoria was national co- chair for President Obama’s reelection campaign.

In 2008, comedian Sarah Silverman ( Sarah Silverman: Jesus Is Magic , 2005) fi lmed “The Great Schlep” ad to encourage young people to “schlep” their grandparents to the polls, rec-ognizing that older generations were skeptical about the fi rst black presidential contender: “Yes, Barack Hussein Obama is a super- fucking- shitty name, but you’d think that somebody named Manischewitz Gooberman might understand that.” In 2012, directly addressing young women voters, writer- director- actress Lena Dunham ( Tiny Furniture , 2010) made “Your First Time,” using her trademark sexual honesty in a pun to sell Obama’s record on women’s rights to fi rst- time voters: “Your fi rst time shouldn’t be with just anybody, you wanna do it with a great guy . . . someone who really cares about and understands women.” In his 2012 ad, “Wake the Fuck Up,” Samuel L. Jackson traded on his association with vulgar language to reenergize young voters whose previous support for Obama seemed to wane the second time around. While the effect of these ads on moving votes remains unknown, that Obama won both elections suggests these commercials effectively targeted voters receptive to their Hollywood- infused messages and at a minimum did not go unrewarded.

Republican presidential nominee John McCain responded by trying to turn Obama’s pop-ularity into a liability and make celebrity a dirty word. Calling Obama the world’s “biggest celebrity” while juxtaposing images of him with pictures of scandal- plagued celebrities like

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Paris Hilton and Britney Spears, the longtime senator questioned the relative newcomer’s preparation and seriousness to lead the country. Stalwart Hollywood Republicans backing Mitt Romney in 2012 included Jon Voigt, Robert Duval, Chuck Norris, Kelsey Grammer, Scott Baio, and adult fi lm star Jenna Jameson.

In the 2000 contest, both parties received contributions in the millions of dollars from the fi lm and entertainment industries. The Democratic Party has consistently received signifi -cantly more donations from the fi lm industry specifi cally. In eight national elections between 1990 and 2004, Democratic candidates received 87 percent of the more than $46 million in total contributions from the “movie production” industry. 27 According to another account, before the 2004 election cycle had begun, “Hollywood had given the Democratic Party contributions roughly equivalent to what Republicans received from their friends in the oil and gas industries.” 28 In 2012, the president outraised Romney in Hollywood by 16- to- 1 with close to 200 famous donors writing checks to Obama compared to fourteen giving to Romney. The number of Hollywood elite campaign contributions increased so much in the 2012 cycle that the Center for Responsive Politics (CRP) now includes separate lists of celebrities. In that spirit, the CRP reported that forty- one Hollywood “bundlers,” or people who gather contributions from others and bundle them into one lump sum, swelled Obama’s campaign coffers by $11.4 million, “with nothing in this category reported for the Romney campaign.” 29

Despite this imbalance, Republicans in 2012 did have on their side a secret celebrity weapon. Following in John Wayne’s footsteps as western movie icon turned prominent political supporter of conservative views, Clint Eastwood caused a stir with a provocative appearance at the 2012 Republican National Convention on presidential candidate Mitt Romney’s behalf. Thinking Eastwood’s appearance a publicity coup, convention organiz-ers tried to keep his role a secret to build viewer anticipation for a mystery guest. Giddy media reports leaked the news that “Dirty Harry” would appear, playing up Eastwood’s 1970s–1980s incarnation as a detective fed up with a justice system he thinks has tied his hands in order to protect the civil rights of accused criminals at the expense of their victims. Eastwood’s speech earned mixed reviews at best for its premise that the aging actor was speaking, at times quite crudely, to an invisible President Obama represented by an empty chair. While Republicans hoped for a shot in the arm by an American fi lm legend with a reputation as an “enforcer” ( The Enforcer , 1976) of direct justice and old- school standards of masculinity, what they got was an unintentional parody of their most prominent standard- bearers: old, white, out- of- touch men.

Of course, other political causes boasted their stars and benefactors, such as the National Rifl e Association (actor Charlton Heston served as its president from 1998 to 2003) and the National Abortion Rights Action League (actress Cybil Shepherd is a frequent spokesper-son). The 2004 campaign reprised, and the 2008 and 2012 campaigns outdid, the star- studded 2000 campaign, although election- law changes lowered the amount of money individuals could contribute.

Campaign fi nancing dynamics changed after the 2010 Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission Supreme Court ruling that campaign fi nance laws intended to limit infl uence- peddling by capping the independent expenditures of unions and corporations to political action committees (PACs) violated First Amendment rights to freedom of speech. In other words, corporations and unions could no longer be prohibited from paying for political ads made by groups separate from candidate campaigns. Direct contributions to particular

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candidate campaigns, however, remained regulated. The court wrote, “If the First Amend-ment has any force it prohibits Congress from fi ning or jailing citizens, or associations of citizens, for simply engaging in political speech.” This ruling resolved earlier confl icting court precedents by siding with a decision that had forbidden “speech restrictions based on the speaker’s corporate identity.” To reach this conclusion, the Supreme Court, having previously equated money with speech, decided that corporations and unions were nothing more than “associations of citizens” and therefore could not have their speech “disfavored” or singled out by restrictions on expenditures to PACs. The court also decided that this type of corporate or union political speech was no likelier to corrupt elected offi cials than that already guaranteed to individuals. The dissenting opinion said the majority had rejected “the common sense of the American people, who have recognized a need to prevent corporations from undermining self- government since the founding.” 30

The free speech at issue in Citizens United was a political fi lm, a documentary extremely crit-ical of Hillary Clinton’s work as senator and fi rst lady. Anticipating that Clinton would win the 2008 Democratic nomination for president, the conservative nonprofi t organization Citizens United produced the fi lm. Because of its political bent and because the organization planned to purchase airtime on cable television, the Federal Election Commission determined that Hillary: The Movie (2008) was an “electioneering communication” and so subject to the rules governing political ads, including restrictions on their sources of funding. The case landed in the nation’s highest court, and the divisive ruling that decided it opened the fl oodgates on the amount of cash poured into elections. Unless Congress passes different legislation that a differ-ent Supreme Court accepts as constitutional, Citizens United is tantamount to law.

The 2012 election involved the largest amount of campaign money spent in history. The Center for Public Integrity determined that as a direct result of Citizens United , super PACs and nonprofi t groups dumped $1 billion more into the election process than they would have without the ruling. Most of the money went to negative attack ads. 31 It is not certain,

Former Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich appears in the documentary Hillary: The Movie (2008), the political expression at issue in the Supreme Court campaign fi nance case known as Citizens United .

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however, how Citizens United affected Hollywood’s involvement in the 2012 election or even the election outcome overall. For one thing, Citizens United allowed groups and indi-viduals to donate to nonprofi t organizations anonymously. For another, more money ended up in the tills of conservative nonprofi ts like Crossroads GPS and Americans for Prosperity than in liberal or Democratic hands, yet Republicans lost the presidential election and sev-eral other key races. One likely effect will be continued cynicism toward electoral politics by the voting, and viewing, public, as expressed in Hollywood fi lms as disparate as Ides of March (2011) and The Campaign (2012).

The overall impact of Hollywood money and celebrity endorsements in election cam-paigns and whether it is of lasting political import are diffi cult to ascertain. It certainly further frays the line between Hollywood imagination and political reality. The motives of Hollywood celebrities are probably the same as those of other elites—they can use their sta-tus to pursue their political goals much more easily than average citizens. They also may be attracted to particular candidates and perhaps aspire to be regarded as serious public fi gures, as the personal magnetism of Barack Obama and the political activism of various celebrities respectively suggest. Politicians and political organizations presumably value celebrities for the fund- raising cachet they bring to campaigns and, perhaps, the glamour. (As the cliché goes, “Washington is Hollywood for ugly people.”) Michael Nelson sees an additional rea-son to suspect that the affi nity will continue:

Entertainers and politicians face similar challenges. Whether on screen or on the hustings, they must woo the public and adjust to changes in style and taste. Since the 1980s, the

Co-stars Zach Galifi anakis and Will Ferrell attend The Campaign press conference on July 17, 2012, at The Grove in Los Angeles. (Photo by JB Lacroix/Wire- Image)

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distinction [between the public and private lives of politicians] no longer has prevailed in media coverage of politics. In almost all aspects of their careers, therefore, celebrities and politicians can not only help each other, but can also empathize with each other in a way that few outsiders can. 32

Actors as Politicians, Politicians as Actors

Although much of interest in the subject of fi lm and politics concerns how actors portray politicians, the logical conclusion of the trend of celebrity involvement in politics is actors actually becoming politicians. Before Ronald Reagan’s improbable rise from actor to gov-ernor of California to president, this scenario seemed unlikely. But the electability of actors (and other celebrities, such as professional wrestler and Minnesota governor Jesse Ventura) is no longer at question nor even novel. Nevertheless, the 2004 election of action- fi lm actor Arnold Schwarzenegger to the governorship of California seemed to transfi x the nation anew.

As we have seen, the distinction between the roles of actors and politicians has dimin-ished in recent decades. Hastened by the overwhelming importance of the mass media—and particularly television—politicians increasingly seem to need to be able to demonstrate their acting ability in order to succeed. That professional actors would thrive at this challenge is hardly surprising.

When George H.W. Bush said to Congress, “Read my lips,” he was consciously invok-ing the tough- guy image of Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry. His son, George W. Bush, made similar use of cinematic tough- guy talk when he declared that the sponsors of terrorism against the United States were “wanted dead or alive,” and we have referred to his cinematic landing on an aircraft carrier. “Bring ’em on,” Bush declared, when asked about guerrilla attacks on U.S. troops in Iraq in 2003. But these incidents seem, on the whole, to be isolated and staged. Neither Bush is particularly convincing as an actor, it would seem, although the extent to which politicians’ worldviews are derived from the world of movies is open to question. Such free appeal to movie lines and imagery may refl ect the increasing dominance of pop culture in the United States, according to Allen Metcalf: “We’re all so used to pop culture” that when Bush talks like a movie hero, “we get the message that he’s serious, he’s being tough.” 33

One movie reference mistake suggested how seriously Americans take movies and presi-dents’ relationship to them, practically in that order. In 2013, when the press asked President Obama what he was doing to prevent the impending automatic budget cuts called “seques-tration,” he replied, “I’m not a dictator; I can’t use a ‘Jedi mind meld’ to force Republicans’ hands.” The media pounced on his unintentional mash- up of Star Wars with Star Trek and the result was not pretty for the president nor, it could be said, for the nation. His pop culture gaffe briefl y overtook the topic of what effects the automatic cuts in government spending would have on the economy. The media’s eagerness to make hay out of Obama’s mistake signaled their apparent weariness at covering the complexity of the original issue at hand. Addressing the Values Voters Summit in Washington, DC, during the fall 2013 federal gov-ernment shutdown, Texas senator Ted Cruz invoked a more obscure fi lm fact when he used criminal mastermind Keyser Soze in The Usual Suspects (1995) to vaguely associate the left with the anti- Christ while suggesting that the Republicans responsible for the shutdown were the real victims of the moment: “You know the movie The Usual Suspects ? When they

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say, ‘The greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing the world that he didn’t exist.’ The greatest trick the left ever played is to convince conservatives we cannot win.” 34 And so it seems likely that political use of cinematic words and imagery—intentional quotes and slip- ups both—will only increase in the coming decades.

What is perhaps even more signifi cant is the prospect of politicians behaving like actors, in the sense of emulating movie roles and concepts drawn from cinematic fi ction. Former House Speaker Newt Gingrich refers often to the infl uence of John Wayne generally and his role as Sgt. Stryker in the quintessential World War II combat fi lm, Sands of Iwo Jima (1949), specifi cally on Gingrich’s political persona. In adolescence he emulated Stryker’s stride and as Speaker of the House claimed, “That was the formative movie in my life.” 35 Garry Wills writes of the profound impact movies, more so than scholarship, have had on the former history professor Gingrich:

If you can get a novel in its movie form, all the better. Gingrich draws lessons from The Last of the Mohicans with Daniel Day Lewis as Natty Bumppo (and is under the miscon-ception that it is faithful to the novel). He urges students to learn their history from Sunrise at Campobello (1960) or Young Lincoln in Illinois “with Raymond Massey as Lincoln” (he means Abe Lincoln in Illinois , 1940— Young Mr. Lincoln , 1939, has Henry Fonda). Gin-grich’s belief in the power of movies to solve life’s problems came out when he suggested the baseball strike could be settled by getting both sides together to watch Field of Dreams , just as he promoted orphanages by telling people to see Spencer Tracy in Boys Town . 36

This type of cinematic “learning,” though largely unexplored by political scientists and fi lm scholars, clearly represents an important aspect of the politics–fi lm nexus.

Michael Rogin argues that Ronald Reagan’s entire presidency was a kind of reenactment of his movie roles. 37 Analyzing Reagan’s ascent from actor to the presidency, Rogin identi-fi es a number of instances when Reagan drew from Hollywood movies for key phrases as well as conceptual foundations for his policies:

• During a 1980 Republican presidential debate, Reagan uttered, “I am paying for this microphone, Mr. Green.” The line was spoken by Spencer Tracy as a fi ctional presiden-tial candidate in the fi lm State of the Union (1948).

• During a 1983 Congressional Medal of Honor ceremony, Reagan recounted a story of a World War II bomber pilot who was posthumously honored with the Congressional Medal for choosing to die aboard his crippled plane rather than abandon a wounded crew member. It was soon discovered that the hero in question was drawn from the 1944 war movie A Wing and a Prayer . (When questioned on the matter, Reagan’s press secretary Larry Speakes responded, “If you tell the same story fi ve times, it’s true.”) 38

• Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative system (commonly known as “Star Wars,” but not inspired by that fi lm) closely resembled the “inertia projector,” a defense system that “stops and destroys anything that moves” in Murder in the Air (1940), which fea-tures a secret agent played by Reagan.

In Rogin’s view, Reagan’s entire worldview was etched by simplistic Hollywood movies that—among other things—presented an evil foe and an always virtuous America. The valid-ity of his specifi c connections between movies and Reagan’s words and actions as president

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is sometimes questionable, but Rogin’s central argument about the power of fi lm to transfi x political elites must be taken seriously. It is consistent with the view of political scientists James Combs and Sara Combs that “the motion picture must be accorded a central role in the expansion of popular learning.” 39 If even only marginally valid, Rogin’s thesis casts the signifi cance of understanding the political content of fi lm to an even higher level.

Reagan is not the only president to be linked to Hollywood. Ian Scott’s analysis of the Clinton presidency suggests a similar blur between the silver screen and the White House. In Scott’s view, Clinton’s reputed obsession with spin control stemmed directly from his “dan-gerous obsession with movie culture.” 40 Scott interprets Clinton’s facility and fascination with Hollywood personalities as a direct contributor to his actions as president. Scott also traces the chicken- and- egg relationship between the early presidential aspirations of Barack Obama and the fi ctional television show about the White House created by political screen-writer Aaron Sorkin, West Wing (1999–2006). He quotes e- mail from Obama’s right- hand man, David Axelrod, to West Wing staff writer Elie Attie: “We’re living your scripts.” On the other end, witnessing Obama rock the house in his national debut at the 2004 Democratic National Convention convinced Attie to use Obama’s tone, style, and rhetoric as template for the show’s Latino presidential aspirant. As he puts it, “After that convention speech, Obama’s life changed. . . . He was more than a candidate seeking votes; people were seeking him. Some of Santos’s celebrity aura came from that.” Scott sums up the art–reality nesting egg this way: “The fact that one drew inspiration from the other shows the reality of the Hollywood/ entertainment/Washington nexus in the early twenty- fi rst century.” 41

Action hero Schwarzenegger was not loath to borrow from his movie roles on the cam-paign trail. He shouted “Hasta la vista, car tax!” (paraphrasing a line from Terminator 2: Judgment Day , 1991) as a crane dropped a weight onto a car to illustrate his promise to cut the unpopular tax. After his election in 2003, his campaign to pass a pair of citizen initiatives was to resemble “a Hollywood production, a neat blending of show business and politics.” Schwarzenegger believes that acting and political leadership overlap signifi cantly: “In act-ing what is important is that it’s organic . . . and that you connect to the people so they can look at the scene and buy in. But it’s the same here [in government]. You have to connect with the people, and the more organic you are . . . that’s what then makes people buy in.” 42

Out of offi ce, Schwarzenegger came full circle in 2011 with plans for a 3- D movie fran-chise built around his cartoon alter ego, the “Governator,” a campaign- era nickname fusing the fi ction of his Terminator franchise with his ambition to be elected governor. The online open source dictionary of slang “Urban Dictionary” lists several defi nitions for the name, including two that invoke another Schwarzenegger fi lm also uncannily apt to his politi-cal moment, Total Recall (1990) (remade with Colin Ferrell in 2012): “Half governor, half cyborg, a hyper- alloy combat chassis surrounded by living tissue, sent back by Skynet to become the governor of California,” and “the bodybuilder/actor- turned- 38th Governor of California, who in a recall election terminated the governorship of Gray Davis.” At a 2011 press conference convened to announce the marketing strategy for the fi lm and related mer-chandise, Schwarzenegger claimed a number of celebrities were interested in participating in The Governator, from actors “to politicians, tycoons and business men.” 43 His postpolitical career enjoys the opportunism presented by the same blending of entertainment, political, and corporate elites that fueled his political ascension to an offi ce that then came to embody the same.

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While earning their game- changing political clout in different times with contrast-ing character traits, and although it could be argued that Governor Schwarzenegger is a postmodern parody of President Reagan’s earnest belief in movie ethics and their power to convince, both actors translated fi lm genre iconography into an expressed ideology that resonated with a dominant voting bloc. Reagan parlayed the shorthand of western settings, horseback rides, axe- swings, and sunsets into a legible set of old- fashioned values applied to a range of issues, including social justice and gender norms, appreciated by most 1980s voters beleaguered by the dispiriting, paranoid decade just ended. Schwarzenegger turned his sci- fi – gleaming yet muscle- bound cinematic body into a symbol for government effi -ciency and macho can- do spunk, presenting himself not as the original, mindless death machine of The Terminator (1984) but as the sequels’ good- guy man of action to replace or “recall” the perceived ineffectualness of the elected governor, Grey Davis, whose very name and slim physical build suggested weak tea indeed. As if lifted from any one of several Schwarzenegger movies, California, in essence, went back in time to do over the election and rejigger the outcome to hand the action hero his happy ending along with their hopes for renewed, effective government.

Propaganda and the Military Uses of Film

Another way that politics and fi lm interact is through the creation of propaganda: “material disseminated by the advocates or opponents of a doctrine or cause.” As media of all kinds are routinely used to persuade the public, propaganda is a “dominant form of communication,” according to Combs and Combs. 44 We routinely sift through all kinds of propaganda every day, much of it in the form of advertising. Movies are particularly valuable as vehicles for propaganda because “much of the movie experience is play . . . more fun than work,” thereby making movie audiences vulnerable to subtle forms of persuasion embedded in fi lms. 45

However, as Combs and Combs observe, “In some broad sense, all fi lms have propa-ganda value, the potential to be used, or taken, as a message that should be propagated.” 46 This statement is similar to our earlier contention that all movies must be considered in some way political, so we need to have a means of differentiating fi lms that represent propaganda in its purest form from everyday, run- of- the- mill entertainment. For the purposes of this discussion, we will confi ne our focus to government- created , – sponsored , or – enabled fi lms that seek to persuade the public in favor of governmental causes, specifi cally support for war- making efforts.

Combs and Combs trace the earliest propaganda to the Spanish- American War of 1898, when the War Department helped fi lmmakers fi lm battle action at Fort Meade, Maryland, that glorifi ed the American cause. Before America’s entry into World War I, J. Stuart Blackton produced a fi lm paradoxically titled The Battle Cry of Peace (1915), which advocated military preparedness and featured the “nefarious traits” that would characterize Germans through-out the century. Theodore Roosevelt promoted the movie, and 2,500 actual marines were allocated to the set. A competing, pro- pacifi cist fi lm, Civilization (1916), which was openly promoted by President Woodrow Wilson, quickly followed.

Once America entered the war, the Committee on Public Information (CPI) was formed with the mission of selling the war to the American public. The CPI and its director, George Creel, found that the movie industry was a willing ally in this effort; it produced trailers to

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sell war bonds, created “documentary” newsreels, and let its major stars tour the country in support of the war. Combs and Combs note that “the movies had proven to be powerful stuff, and now that power was available to anyone who wanted to propagate a social or political message.” 47

World War II required another movie to sell the American public on the need for war. The Offi ce of War Information, the Film Liaison Offi ce, and various other government entities forged an alliance with the fi lm industry’s War Activities Committee. Combs and Combs write that “Washington did not merely want Hollywood to confi rm, it also wanted the crea-tive genius of the producers, writers, technicians, and directors.” 48 Most prominently, director Frank Capra produced a series of motivational fi lms for soldiers titled Why We Fight , spon-sored by the War Department. The fi lms, directed by Capra and other Hollywood stalwarts such as John Huston and John Ford, were so successful that President Franklin D. Roosevelt ordered them to be shown to civilian groups, and millions of Americans viewed them.

The Cold War opened up new avenues of government- sponsored propagandistic fi lm-making. Combs and Combs note that “studios making war fi lms could count on the assistance and cooperation of the military if they had a measure of script approval that would propagate a positive image.” 49 Filmmakers who met this assurance were allowed access to military bases and other forms of what amounted to subsidization of propaganda fi lms by the U.S. military. Many of these fi lms, such as Strategic Air Command (1955) and Take the High Ground (1953), emphasized the need for “preparedness” in the face of the Communist threat.

The cozy relationship between fi lmmakers and the military fi zzled somewhat with the onset of the Vietnam War (and later the Gulf War), with popular fi lms critical of the war like Apocalypse Now (1979) and Platoon (1986) receiving no military assistance at all. This disruption set the stage for the generally more confrontational tone of the war fi lms of the era—with the notable exception of John Wayne’s throwback fi lm, the Pentagon- subsidized The Green Berets (1968)—discussed in later chapters. But the propaganda role served by movies, bolstered by military assistance to fi lmmakers, continued, as fi lms like Top Gun (1986) and Annapolis (2006) served as virtual recruitment fi lms. Released in the midst of the Reagan era’s rekindled emphasis on Cold War politics, Top Gun in particular marked a renewed interest in the mutual benefi ts a close relationship between the Film Liaison Offi ce and Hollywood could yield. The fi lm’s producer, Jerry Bruckheimer, relied heavily on Pen-tagon assistance and the military set up recruitment tables outside theaters playing the Tom Cruise jet pilot hit. At the same time, some fi lms faced a form of censorship when the mili-tary refused to provide them with such assistance. Said director Oliver Stone, who was refused military assistance for his Vietnam War-era fi lms, “They make prostitutes of us all because they want us to sell out to their point of view.” 50

An internal military memo concerning production of the popular spy fi lm Clear and Pre-sent Danger (1994) expresses the situation even more explicitly:

Perhaps the biggest hurdle the public service affairs offi cers had to overcome was the fi lm-makers’ sense of our meddling in their product and our sense that they weren’t taking us seriously. There was a tension, almost until the day fi lming began, which manifested itself in our comments which went unanswered in subsequent drafts of the script. When the fi lm-makers realized that unless the services were satisfi ed with the script, approval [from the military] would not be granted, the changes were fi nally made. 51

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In 2002, the Marine Corps “convinced” the producer of the Nicholas Cage fi lm Windtalk-ers to delete a historically accurate scene in which a Marine pries gold teeth from the mouth of a dead Japanese soldier. 52 Not all fi lmmakers have been willing to airbrush facts to suit the Pentagon’s propaganda demands. The producers of Thirteen Days (2000), a dramatization of the Cuban missile crisis with Kevin Costner as President Kennedy, forfeited support when the military judged that key generals were “depicted in a negative and inauthentic way as unintelligent and bellicose.” The same military offi ce also demanded removal of a scene of a U2 reconnaissance pilot shot down and killed over Cuba, saying it never happened. Backed by secret recordings Kennedy made of meetings with the generals in question as well as a letter of condolence Kennedy sent the pilot’s widow, the fi lm’s producers stuck by the his-torical accuracy of their version. 53

The Air Force Entertainment Liaison Offi ce green- lights fi lms for assistance and describes their clients as those who “rely upon our services for accurate and plausible Air Force depic-tions.” 54 Among those services are script research, wardrobe and dialogue consultation, on- location fi lming at various U.S. bases, and on- set technical advice. The liaison offi ce has provided a variety of these services to fi lms ranging from the fi rst post- 9/11 story about that devastating day’s events and the only plane not to reach its target, United 93 (2006), to different installments in the science fi ction action franchises Terminator (2003, 2009), Iron Man (2008, 2010), and Transformers (2007, 2009). Prospective studio clients must submit material to the liaison offi ce early in the “development or concept phase,” and the offi ce’s services are contingent upon “accurate depictions of the Air Force” and “productions in the overall interest of the Department of Defense or the nation.” 55 The Air Force thus defi nes what is in the overall interest of the nation as what is acceptable to the Defense Department and uses words like “plausible” and “accurate” as catchall terms for reasons to deny a stu-dio access and assistance as if these were transparent or common- sense standards to apply across the board. What criteria the liaison offi ce actually uses to determine whether a movie is in the nation’s interests are unspecifi ed, yet its website reassures: “If your project will increase the public’s awareness of the capabilities, history or mission of the Air Force, we are ready to help.” 56 Thus, the distinction between censorship and propaganda is sometimes blurred. It is diffi cult to imagine cooperation between government and fi lmmakers without some compromise of the purposes and products of the latter. Such a pattern seems most likely to occur in the context of war, military, and espionage fi lms, but can certainly spill over into fi lms about crime, terrorism, and other politically sensitive issues.

Recent changes to the law governing offi cial propaganda distribution enhance the pos-sibility for collusion between Hollywood and the government. At the end of World War II and the start of the Cold War, the State Department decided the time had come to coun-ter rampant anti- American propaganda abroad. At the same time, lawmakers recalled the virulent effects of the massive Nazi propaganda machine and did not want any U.S. gov-ernment agency to be used to propagandize American citizens as Hitler had the Germans. Thus the U.S. Information and Education Act of 1948, more frequently referred to as the Smith- Mundt Act, allowed the U.S. State Department to engage in the production and dis-semination of American propaganda abroad to infl uence foreign populations but strictly forbade any distribution “within the United States, its territories or possessions.” 57 The act also stressed the value of the government using private business in these efforts. The law has meant that before any fi lm produced by the United States Information Agency can be screened domestically, Congress must pass a waiver. (The fi rst such fi lm Congress allowed

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a domestic screening was the 1965 documentary about John F. Kennedy, Years of Light-ning, Day of Drums .) 58

Moving to change the law in the 1970s, Senator J. William Fulbright of Arkansas declared that propaganda outlets like the radio broadcaster Voice of America “should be given the opportunity to take their rightful place in the graveyard of Cold War relics.” 59 The law did not undergo signifi cant reform, however, until 2013, when the Smith- Mundt Moderniza-tion Act removed the prohibition against the release of State Department and Broadcasting Board of Governors programming within the United States. 60 While it is not yet clear what effect this repeal will have, already some critics are bracing for an unwelcome effect on fi lmmaking.

In an open letter to director Kathryn Bigelow, author Naomi Wolf accuses the Zero Dark Thirty director of justifying the use of torture to capture Osama bin Laden and speculates that this “amoral compromising” resulted from an unspecifi ed unseemly fi nancial relation-ship. Calling Bigelow a “Leni Riefenstahl- like propagandist of torture,” Wolf writes:

It is very hard to get a fi lm without a pro- military message, such as The Hurt Locker , funded and fi nanced. But according to sources in the fi lm industry, the more pro- military your message is, the more kinds of help you currently can get. . . . It seems implausible that [ Zero Dark Thirty ] scenes such as those involving two top- secret, futuristic helicopters could be made without Pentagon help, for example. If the fi lm received that kind of undis-closed, in- kind support from the defense department, then that would free up millions of dollars for the gigantic ad campaign that a fi lm like this needs to compete to win audience. 61

Without proving that Bigelow did indeed carry water for the military in Zero Dark Thirty , Wolf predicts that the effect of the Smith- Mundt Modernization Act will be “even more overt corruption of Hollywood.” 62 Wolf’s attack on the amendment from the political left echoes criticisms from the right. A Conservative News Central headline blasts, “Obama Launches Massive Domestic Propaganda Push With Government Run News,” and conspiracy theorist Alex Jones on InfoWars.Com warns, “The CIA will now propagandize Americans.” 63 The actual effect on Hollywood fi lmmaking remains for fi lmmakers to decide and critics and audiences to discern.

Centralization of the Film Industry

A fi nal way that the external world may affect movies is the organization of how they are produced, distributed, and shown. The salient pattern in this respect is the centralization and corporatization of the fi lm industry. In the studio system days of Hollywood’s classical era, the “big eight” studio companies controlled every aspect of fi lm production, distribu-tion, and exhibition, with three of them (Universal Pictures, Columbia Pictures, and United Artists) owning smaller theater chains than the fi ve comprehensively vertically integrated companies (20th Century Fox, Lowe’s Incorporated/MGM, Paramount Pictures, RKO Radio Pictures, and Warner Bros.). In 1948, antitrust court rulings deemed the studio system a monopoly and broke it up, leading to a reconfi gured business model horizontally organized around production, distribution, and exhibition. Today the “big six” major studios are owned by global media conglomerates. Sony owns Columbia Pictures, TimeWarner owns Warner Bros. Pictures, the Walt Disney Company owns Walt Disney Pictures, Comcast/General

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Electric owns Universal Pictures, News Corporation owns 20th Century Fox, and Viacom owns Paramount Pictures. Media conglomerate control extends beyond control of one of the “big six.” For example, Sony owns the major studio Columbia Pictures, but it also courts art house fi lmmakers with its subdivision, Sony Pictures Classics, and owns the distribution subsidiary called Screen Gems, which invests in genre and other B- picture projects. It also controls other movie companies and interests, including Tri Star Pictures, Sony Pictures Animation, Destination Films, Triumph Films, Stage 6 Films, and Affi rm Films. 64

The same media conglomerates also own signifi cant interests in fi lm distribution, DVD sales and rentals, theater ownership, ticket sales, and related merchandise. Industry watchers suggest global conglomerate control has reprised the vertical integration organization of the old studio system, controlling each stage in the life of a fi lm. TimeWarner offers a case in point with the fi lm Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows: Part 1 (2010). Its major studio, Warner Bros. Pictures, in association with HeyDay Films, produced the fi lm. Warner Bros. Distribution distributed it. Several TimeWarner companies marketed it: premium cable com-pany HBO aired a “behind the scenes” special about the making of the fi lm; its worldwide cable network CNN ran a Larry King Special interviewing the fi lm’s stars at the fi lm’s pre-mier; Time magazine featured print articles on the fi lm even after its release to promote DVD sales. Finally TimeWarner exhibited the fi lm to international audiences through its Warner Bros. International Cinemas chain. 65 Vertical integration means monopolistic control by the big studios can squeeze out independent, smaller- scaled fi lmmaking, the kind more inclined to the types of stories associated with political fi lms.

The trend toward fewer fi rms controlling an increasingly greater proportion of the fi lm industry is mirrored in the American mass media generally, as these same conglomerates also have vast holdings in other media, such as cable television, television stations, and the Internet. The conglomerate Walt Disney Company owns the major studio Walt Disney Pictures and the ABC television network as well as cable networks like ESPN, the Disney Channel, and SOAPnet. Its radio interests include Radio Disney and ESPN Radio Network. Disney’s print media include Juvenile Publishing and Marvel Publishing, and its entertain-ment holdings include Marvel Entertainment, Pixar, and Mammoth Records; it also owns Disney theme parks and water parks. 66 By one estimate, whereas approximately fi fty fi rms dominated the mass media in 1983, by 2001 that number had decreased to nine companies, including those that own the Hollywood studios. 67 By 2010 that number had dropped to six. 68

The impact of corporate ownership of fi lm production and distribution companies (along with other mass media) is debatable; however, potential politically sensitive outcomes are readily identifi able. Perhaps the most frequently stated consequence is the belief that cor-porate owners, ever mindful of the bottom line, may further skew fi lm production toward politically safe themes and content. This would effectively constitute corporate censorship of the entertainment industry.

For many observers, this effect is a fait accompli. Variety editor in chief Peter Bart believes that corporate ownership of the fi lm industry has changed it “only about 150 percent”:

it’s only in relatively recent years that Hollywood became the playground of multi- national corporations, which regard movies and TV shows as a minor irritant to their overall activ-ity. So, it’s become a corporate town. It was not a corporate town 10, 15 years ago. [I]t affects the decision- making process on movies, because, for example, what big corpora-tions want most is risk- averse pictures. 68

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Control of the last element, exhibition, through ownership of theaters and theater chains, also is becoming increasingly centralized. One fi rm, the Anschutz Corporation, now owns close to 20 percent of the screens in the United States. 70 According to industry observer Jon Alon Walz, Anschutz and others who are acquiring theaters intend to cash in on digital pro-jection technology to increase the profi tability of owning large numbers of theaters. 71

“Digital cinema” includes the production, delivery, and projection of full- length motion pictures in theaters using digital technology in place of actual celluloid fi lms and reel- to- reel projection. While one copy of a 35mm fi lm costs upward of $1,500, copies on digital hard drive cost one- tenth of that with prices falling fast, radically lowering the fi nancial and logis-tical costs of the second element, distribution. 72

As one industry reporter observed, “With digital delivery to theatres, economies of scale at the 6,000- screen level and above might fi nally be possible. Freight and projector main-tenance costs are eliminated, as is the job of fi lm splicer and, for all practical purposes, projectionist.” 73 At the end of 2012, 84 percent of American cinema screens had been con-verted to digital. 74 Winston Wheeler Dixon announced, “By the end of 2013, it seems, fi lm will be gone; like it or not, it’s a digital world.” 75 This means that small rural theaters unable to afford the roughly $100,000 conversion cost will close or have to settle for showing older or independently distributed fi lms, since all new Hollywood fi lms will require digital projection. As many as 10 to 20 percent of U.S. theaters may go out of business; other com-mentators put the number even higher. 76 At the same time, big multiplex chains like AMC, Regal, and other major players have raced to make the switch. 77

Such centralized ownership of cinemas could result in limitations on the viewing of polit-ically controversial fi lms. Anschutz Corporation owner Philip Anschutz, for example, is a fi nancial patron of conservative causes such as Colorado’s highly publicized Amendment 2, which would have overturned laws protecting gay rights. Politically motivated theater own-ers of the magnitude of Anschutz could conceivably limit the exposure of a fi lm whose political messages they disliked.

Of course, not all movies are produced and distributed by the major studios and their conglomerate owners. Independent fi lms (i.e., those not produced by the major Holly-wood studios) are ostensibly the product of a more artistically liberated creative process. Every year hundreds of these small fi lms are produced and released, many in hopes of re- creating the success of independent breakout hits like Pulp Fiction (1994) and My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002). Yet that business model—truly independent production fi nds mass distribution and strong marketing through fi nancial affi liation with major studio—has col-lapsed into chaos like much else about the indie fi lm scene in the current digital age and tent- pole era.

If today’s independent fi lm scene is in a state of fl ux, it was not always thus. In the 1990s, independent productions became increasingly important to the fi lm industry. The unprecedented success of the independent production and distribution company Miramax and the Sundance fi lm festival led to a Hollywood spending spree, with studios absorbing independent companies or launching their own in- house indie or niche- oriented divisions. (For example, Disney purchased Miramax.) Always on the lookout for a surefi re hit, the industry both bought out the independent studios and sought to compete with them with their in- house indie divisions. Gary Susman explains how indie transformed from a business description applying to fi lm companies unaffi liated fi nancially, legally, and artistically with

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big Hollywood studios to a brand and a fi lmmaking style largely co- opted and subsequently abandoned by the industry:

With few truly independent studios left, indie cinema became less about who was raising the budget and more about a set of artistic criteria. Indie was the kind of movies that won Oscars—dramas built around characters instead of plots, around ideas instead of feelings, voices instead of actions, faces instead of special effects. . . . In the past few years, how-ever, Hollywood decided there was no money in the business of making small arty fi lms, and the studios shuttered their indie divisions in order to place all their chips on expensive, formulaic action spectacles. 78

Without national distribution of their fi lms, independent fi lmmakers cannot achieve much success at the box offi ce. Lack of box offi ce success diminishes the prospect for truly inde-pendent fi lms to provide a signifi cant counterbalance of political messages.

Nevertheless, independent cinema represents the potential for a true “cinema of outsid-ers,” not tightly constrained by massive profi t seeking or other corporate agendas. That freedom alone still compels fi lmmakers, even Hollywood A- listers. George Clooney, for one, makes foreign television commercials and mainstream fi lms like the Ocean’s Eleven franchise (2001, 2001, 2004, 2007) so that he can work for scale on smaller fi lms, several of which, like Good Night, and Good Luck (2005), The Ides of March (2011), and The Monu-ments Men (2013), were overtly political.

Business challenges persist, but truly small- scale and independent productions continue to rise to them. Assisted by the low cost of digital distribution to theaters and the multi-ple platforms available for exhibition, political fi lms have the chance to thrive in the latest technological environment. Netfl ix and other Internet digital streaming services, as well as video- on- demand distribution, all suggest the potential for greater democratization of fi lmmaking and fi lm viewing. The future for movies predicted by the head of Vogel Capi-tal Management—“longterm technology is all digital distribution on the web; streaming or downloading or whatever”—will yield more viewers for political fi lm projects, too. 79

Conclusion

In this chapter, we have sketched the contours of forces external to the movies that have affected the creation of movies in the United States. It is an incomplete and somewhat arbi-trary list, but it demonstrates that movies are not created in a political vacuum—they can be directly and profoundly impacted by the social, political, and economic environment of their times. Although several of the factors discussed in this chapter would seem to inveigh against the creation of overtly political if not controversial fi lms, the fact is that such fi lms continue to be made and viewed.

The stunning commercial success of independent fi lmmaker Michael Moore’s documentary Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004, discussed in greater detail in Chapter 12) and the widely released 2016: Obama’s America (2012) demonstrates that overt political content is not necessarily box offi ce anathema. Even more astonishing were the award- winning box offi ce successes of politically driven fi lms based on real- life stories in 2012: Lincoln , Argo , and Zero- Dark- Thirty . Part of their success may have to do with their blending of the documentary qualities of Moore’s fi lm

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with the creative license allowed fi ction narratives even when based on real- life history; these fi lms exploited the best of both worlds, and audiences rewarded them for it.

Many of these fi lms exemplify the concepts explored here, such as the use of fi lm as propaganda (anti- government propaganda in the case of Moore, pro- government in the case of Zero Dark Thirty ), the role of corporate distribution, the state of independent fi lmmaking, and actors as politicians as well as fi lm as the object of political campaign debate. Whether over the longer term Fahrenheit 9/11 and the decade of politically motivated fi lms following it prove to be merely an exception that proves the rule remains to be seen.

Notes

1. Larry May, The Big Tomorrow: Hollywood and the Politics of the American Way (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), p. 279.

2. The Moore quote can be found (among many other sources) at www.countercurrents.org/iraq- moore10403.htm.

3. The term “Leninist” refers to Vladimir Lenin, founder of the Russian Communist Party, leader of the Bolshevik Revolution, architect of the Soviet Union, as well as its fi rst head of state. “Leninism” is the doctrine codifi ed and merged with Karl Marx’s works by Lenin’s successors to form Marxism- Leninism, the theory foundational to Communist political ideology and party organization.

4. Richard Taylor, The Politics of the Soviet Cinema 1917–1929 (London: Cambridge University Press, 2008), p. 26.

5. Victor Navasky, Naming Names (New York: Penguin, 1983), p. 78. 6. Sidney Lumet quoted in Glenn Lovell, “Not a Pretty Picture. . . . Neither Their Makers nor Their

Audiences Are Finding Films Fun,” San Jose Mercury News , August 17, 1985. 7. Navasky, p. 146. 8. Ibid., pp. 79–80. 9. Dorothy Jones, “Communism in the Movies,” in Report on Blacklisting 1: The Movies , ed. John

Cogley (New York: Fund for the Republic, 1956). 10. M. Keith Booker, Film and the American Left: A Research Guide (Westport, CT: Greenwood

Press, 1999). 11. Jones, p. 216. 12. Navasky, pp. 300–301. 13. See, for example, Paul Buhle and Dave Wagner, Radical Hollywood: The Untold Story Behind

America’s Favorite Movies (New York: Free Press, 2002). 14. Lee Grieveson, Policing Cinema: Movies and Censorship in Early Twentieth Century America

(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), p. 4. 15. For more on the National Censorship Board see Nancy J. Rosenbloom, “Before Reform and Reg-

ulation: The Struggle Over Film Censorship in Progressive America 1909–1922,” Film History , Vol. 1, 1984. For a more succinct account, see http://encyclopedia.jrank.org/articles/pages/2054/The- National- Board- of- Censorship.html.

16. Robert Sklar, Movie- Made America (New York: Random House, 1975), pp. 123–124. 17. A transcript of Hays’ address can be found in the MPPDA Digital Archive, http://mppda.fl inders.

edu.au/records/77. 18. To read the Production Code in its entirety, go to ArtsReformation.com, http://www.artsreformation.

com/a001/hays- code.html. 19. Todd David Epps, “Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘Expedient Exaggerations’ and the Filming of North by

Northwest in South Dakota,” American Experience , PBS, www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/rushmore/fi lmmore/ps_nnw.html.

20. Jack Valenti, “How It All Began,” www.mpaa.org/movieratings/about/content.htm. 21. Chris Roth, “Three Decades of Film Censorship . . . Right Before Your Eyes,” The Humanist ,

January 2000, http://articles.fi ndarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1374/is_1_60/ai_59021329.

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22. Ibid. 23. “Lieberman Attacks Hollywood,” BBC News, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/879681.stm. 24. “Post Newtown: 70 Percent Say Hollywood Shows Too Much Violence (Poll),” Hollywood

Reporter , 2012, www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/post- newtown- school- shooting- 70–407372. 25. Christopher Nolan quoted in Michael Cieply, B. Barnes, “Hollywood Struggles for Proper Response

to Shooting,” New York Times , 2012, http://mediadecoder.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/07/20/warner- brothers- assesses- potential- responses- on- dark- knight/.

26. Gary Wills, John Wayne’s America (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997). 27. Movie Production: Long- Term Contribution Trends, www.opensecrets.org/industries/indus.

asp?Ind=C2400. 28. Eric Alterman, “The Hollywood Campaign,” The Atlantic , August 2004, p. 76. However, every

other major industry favors the Republican Party; see, for example, www.alternet.org/story/9862/.

29. James Hirsen, “Hollywood Cash: Obama Leads Mitt 16:1,” Newsmax , 2012, www.newsmax.com/Hirsen/Hollywood- Obama- Romney- donations/2012/10/29/id/461866.

30. Citizens United v. Federal Election Comm’n (No. 08–205), Legal Information Institute, Cornell University Law School, www.law.cornell.edu/supct/html/08–205.ZS.html.

31. Reity O’Brien, “Court Opened Door to $933 Million in New Election Spending,” Center for Public Integrity, 2013, www.publicintegrity.org/2013/01/16/12027/court- opened- door- 933- million- new- election- spending.

32. Nelson, p. 1. 33. Allen Metcalf quoted in Liz Marlantes, “More John Wayne Rhetoric Infuses Politics: Bush’s

‘bring‘em on’ line is indicative of a growing machismo in public discourse,” Christian Science Monitor , 2003, www.csmonitor.com/2003/0718/p02s02- usfp.html.

34. Ted Cruz quoted in Charlie Spiering, “Beltway Confi dential: Ted Cruz Tells Values Voters They ‘Scare the Living Daylights Out of the Left,” Washington Examiner , 2013, http:// washingtonexaminer.com/ted- cruz- tells- values- voters- they- scare- the- living- daylights- out- of- the- left/article/2537149.

35. Newt Gingrich, quoted by Owen McNally in his review of Garry Wills’s book- length study, John Wayne’s America, “John Wayne’s Biggest Role: American Cultural Icon,” Hartford Courant , 1997, http://articles.courant.com/1997- 03- 30/entertainment/9703250092_1_john- wayne- s- america- newt- gingrich- garry- wills.

36. Garry Wills, “The Visionary,” New York Review of Books , 1995, http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/1995/mar/23/the- visionary/.

37. Michael Rogin, Ronald Reagan: The Movie (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1987), pp. 1–8.

38. Larry Speakes quoted in Susan J. Douglas, “The Enduring Lies of Ronald Reagan,” In These Times , 2007, http://inthesetimes.com/article/3242/the_enduring_lies_of_ronald_reagan.

39. James Combs and Sara Combs, Film Propaganda and American Politics: An Analysis and Fil-mography (New York: Garland, 1994), p. 4.

40. Ian Scott, American Politics in Hollywood Film (Chicago: Fitzroy- Dearborn Press, 2000), p. 156. 41. Ian Scott, American Politics in Hollywood Film , 2nd ed. (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press,

2011), p. 1–2. 42. Connie Bruck, “Supermoderate,” The New Yorker , June 28, 2004, p. 87. 43. Scott Roxborough, “Arnold Schwarzenegger Announces 3D ‘Governator’ Film,” Hollywood

Reporter , April 2011, www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/arnold- schwarzenegger- announces- 3d- governator- 174327.

44. Combs and Combs, p. 6. 45. Ibid., p. 8. 46. Ibid., p. 34 (emphasis added). 47. Ibid. 48. Ibid., p. 69. 49. Ibid., p. 90. 50. Oliver Stone, quoted by David Robb at www.amctv.com/article?CID=1284=1=0=15- EST. 51. Major David Georgi, quoted ibid.

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52. David L. Robb, Operation Hollywood: How the Pentagon Shapes and Censors the Movies (Amherst, NY: Prometheus Books, 2004) p. 60.

53. Ibid., p. 54. 54. Air Force Entertainment Liaison Offi ce, http://www.airforcehollywood.af.mil/clients/index.asp. 55. Ibid. 56. Ibid. 57. “USIA: Can the News Abroad Come Home?” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/1987/11/25/

us/washington- talk- the- usia- can- the- news- abroad- come- home.html. 58. Ibid. 59. Elspeth Reeve, “Americans Finally Have Access to American Propaganda,” The Wire, 2013,

http://www.thewire.com/politics/2013/07/americans- fi nally- have- access- american- propaganda/67167/.

60. John Hudson, “U.S. Repeals Propaganda Ban, Spreads Government Made News to Americans,” Foreign Policy , http://thecable.foreignpolicy.com/posts/2013/07/12/us_backs_off_propaganda_ban_spreads_government_made_news_to_americans.

61. Naomi Wolf, “A Letter to Kathryn Bigelow on Zero Dark Thirty ’s Apology for Torture,” The Guard-ian , www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/jan/04/letter- kathryn- bigelow- zero- dark- thirty.

62. Ibid. 63. Rosa Brooks, “The Case for American Propaganda,” Foreign Policy , www.foreignpolicy.com/

articles/2013/07/17/the_case_for_american_propaganda. 64. “The 10 Biggest Hollywood Studios,” The Richest , www.therichest.com/rich- list/the- biggest/

the- 10- biggest- hollywood- studios/. 65. “Vertical Integration in Warner Bros.,”AS Media, http://ablmedia.blogspot.com/2012/11/vertical-

integration- in- warner- bros.html. 66. “Who Owns the Media?” FreePress, www.freepress.net/ownership/chart. 67. Peter Bart, “The Monster That Ate Hollywood,” Frontline , PBS, 2001, www.pbs.org/wgbh/

pages/frontline/shows/hollywood/picture/corptown.html. 68. “Facts on Media in America: Did You Know?” Common Cause , www.commoncause.org/site/

pp.asp?c=dkLNK1MQIwG&b=4923173. See also, “Media Reform Information Center,” www.corporations.org/media/. See also, “These 6 Corporations Control 90 Percent of the Media in America,” Business Insider , www.businessinsider.com/these- 6- corporations- control- 90- of- the- media- in- america- 2012–6.

69. Bart. 70. Ray Green, Hollywood Migraine: The Inside Story of a Decade in Film (Dublin, Ireland: Merlin

Publishing, 2000), p. 280. 71. Jon Alon Walz, “The Dealmaker of Denver,” located somewhat obscurely at http://investorshub.

advfn.com/boards/read_msg.aspx?message_id=1856253. Originally appearing on BoxOffi ce Online , Walz’s article is also referenced in Dion Dennis, “Priming the Pump of War: Toward a Post- Ethnic, Post- Racial Fascism,” CTHEORY , 2002, http://www.ctheory.net/articles.aspx?id=353#_edn17. Dennis’s article both exposes and critiques the political ideology implicitly endorsed by a foundation called For a Better Life and its fi nancial backer and chairman, Phil-lip Anschutz, also of the Anschutz Corporation and described by Dennis as “one of the world’s richest men, with far- fl ung interests in industrial, transportation, agribusiness, entertainment and telecommunications.” Dennis argues that the billboard messages, television spots, website, and other media produced by this benign-seeming organization that promotes multi cultural, unob-jectionable virtues like “hard work” and “loyalty” fi t all too neatly into defi nitions of propaganda and at base are the function of a postmodern, pro- war fascism implicit to Anschutz’s business behaviors.

72. Stephanie Garlock, “Why the Switch to Digital Projectors Means the End of the Small Town Movie Theater,” The Atlantic Cities , www.theatlanticcities.com/arts- and- lifestyle/2013/08/why- switch- digital- projectors- means- end- small- town- movie- theater/6625/.

73. Walz. 74. Garlock.

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75. Winston Wheeler- Dixon, “The End of Film Is Really Here,” Frame by Frame , University of Nebraska Lincoln, http://blog.unl.edu/dixon/tag/fi lm/.

76. “A Bleak Picture for Non- Digital Independent Theaters: Convert or Die,” The Wrap , www.thewrap.com/movies/article/bleak- picture- non- digital- independent- theaters- convert- or- die- 52346.

77. Garlock. 78. Gary Susman, “The State of Independent Film: 2013,” Moviefone , http://news.moviefone.com/

2013/07/03/state- of- indie- movies- 2013/. 79. “What Ails Hollywood,” The Wrap , 2012, www.thewrap.com/movies/article/what- ails- hollywood-

six- experts- weigh- 34020.

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Politics in the Silent Movies

The Birth of a Nation (1915)

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Although many movies refl ected the social reality of the times, the overtly political fi lms of the fi rst period of American fi lms—the silent age—were dominated by the work of one fi lm-maker, D.W. Griffi th. In this chapter, we explore the political signifi cance of silent motion pictures, paying special attention to the epic masterworks of this most infl uential director. As we shall see, Griffi th exemplifi es much of what critics admire and detest in mainstream fi lms even in the contemporary era.

Because the medium was so new, the moving images of the fi rst fi lms powerfully affected viewers, their impact heightened by the excitement of live music, usually a piano banging away or, in classy establishments, an organ or sometimes even an orchestra. The power of these silent fi lms is hard for us to imagine now, but thanks to the efforts of fi lm historians, more of these movies can be seen today as they were originally experienced—with music, appropriate technical equipment, and good prints. Although many silent fi lms are lost or housed in museums or in private collections with limited access by the pub-lic, even a cursory study reveals a tradition enlivened by a variety of subjects, styles, and perspectives perhaps richer than that of later eras. With language no barrier, foreign fi lms increased this diverse array of fi lms available to early, often immigrant American audiences.

One- and Two- Reelers

Movies were telling stories, albeit short ones, right from the beginning. In 1896, Alice Guy Blaché, a French fi lmmaker who later moved to New Jersey to found her own fi lm company, directed The Cabbage Fairy , considered by many historians to be the fi rst narrative fi lm. Limited to the amount of fi lm that would fi t on one reel of a projector, most early fi lms, like Blaché’s or the better known The Great Train Robbery (1903) by American fi lm pioneer Edwin S. Porter, were less than fi fteen minutes long. Predominantly comedies and melodra-mas, enough of the fi lms of this era survive to give us an idea of what the founders of the American fi lm industry thought about politics.

The development of the medium at the turn of the century coincided with the Progressive movement, which dominated American politics into the 1920s. It was a time when crusading reformers and muckraking journalists attacked political machines and big economic inter-ests. And fi lmmakers joined the attack. According to British fi lm historian I.C. Jarvie, these early days of fi lmmaking rank with 1930–1934 and 1966–1976 as periods when fi lms were most critical of American society. 1

Films like The Ex- Convict (1905), for example, treated crime as a social problem, showing how poverty could drive a decent family man outside the law. The Eviction (1907) condemned avaricious landlords. Bankers and factory owners were also targets of criticism. Workers, however, enjoyed a rare moment of favor in the fi lm industry. This sympathy—perhaps a predictable bias in an era of reform—was evident in the treatment of labor–management confl ict in fi lms like D.W. Griffi th’s The Iconoclast (1910). Yet sympathy for laborers in Griffi th’s work extends only so far. As Scott Simmons observes, “Only a few of Griffi th’s fi lms are overtly political arguments such as The Iconoclast which traces the route from ‘laziness’ to ‘irrational socialism.’ More often his fi lms are subtle parables against economic revolt.” 2

In the 1920s, sympathetic movie portraits of workers and unions became rare. The Russian Revolution made Americans paranoid about Communism, but as fi lmmaking in

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Hollywood became an industry, producers were running into labor union problems of their own. Although a few fi lmmakers, such as Charlie Chaplin, remained sympathetic to work-ers, immigrants, and the downtrodden in general, heroic workers became rare at the movies, and union organizers were more often portrayed as thugs than as saviors.

Attitudes about race and ethnicity were more consistent in the silent era, a time when America’s white Anglo- Saxon Protestant majority felt threatened by mass immigration. Movies refl ected this fear with ethnic and racial minority characters who were lazy, evil, and lustful. This was especially true of African- American and Asian characters. Northern European immigrants were treated more sympathetically, but white ethnic immigrants from elsewhere often were not, and the depiction of Jews in early fi lms was almost always nega-tive. The treatment of immigrants and Jews was ironic given that most early fi lm producers and investors were immigrants and many were Jewish. But instead of showing sympathy for those of their own background, the early fi lmmakers seem to have been pandering to their audiences and denying their roots.

One aspect of their experience as immigrants did shine through, however. For the early fi lmmakers, the American dream had come true. Hard work and good fortune had made them rich and famous. Naturally, they believed in the dream, and their faith showed up in their movies. But their fl ag- waving served a political purpose, too. By proving how Ameri-can they had become, they diverted the kind of criticism that might have led to government control of the fi lm industry, a threat they were nervous about while the anti- immigrant atti-tudes were a political force.

Films that portrayed racial minorities and immigrants—and probably most fi lms of the silent era—were socially refl ective movies according to our typology, low in both political content and intent. A few movies of the silent era were more explicitly political. For exam-ple, The Politicians (1915) is a relatively pure political movie high on political content and surely intentionally so. A clear refl ection of Progressive attitudes about politics, The Politi-cians condemned corrupt machines and bosses. This fi lm and others of its time nourished the popular stereotype of the corrupt politician that would be reiterated throughout the history of American political fi lm. But the explicitly political fi lm of the silent era that had the great-est impact was undoubtedly D.W. Griffi th’s The Birth of a Nation (1915), which contained clear political messages and persuaded America’s intellectual elite that fi lms were more than entertainment for the masses.

History in Lightning

The Birth of a Nation was almost certainly the most important fi lm of the silent era, both artistically and politically. Griffi th made many movies before his epic, but like most others at the time, his earlier fi lms were short, and only a few of them—including The Politician’s Love Story (1909), The Iconoclast (1910), and The Reformers, or the Lost Art of Mind-ing One’s Own Business (1913)—touched on politics. At over three hours, The Birth of a Nation was the longest fi lm ever made in America up to that time and the most technically dazzling, with its creative camera movement and angles, close- ups, long shots, panning and tracking, crosscutting to simultaneously occurring events, montage editing, iris shots, split screen, fade- ins and fade- outs, and thoughtful framing and composition. These techniques came to be considered “cinematic grammar.” They had been used before but never to such great effect and never in such a way as to involve the audience so deeply. Film historian

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Kevin Brownlow observes that The Birth of a Nation was the “fi rst feature to be made in the same fl uid way as pictures are made today. It was the most widely seen production of the time and it had the strongest infl uence.” 3 The Birth of a Nation was ambitious in more than length and technique. Its content also gave it impact but because it was so substantial and so controversial. Among the fi rst to make people take movies seriously, Griffi th’s epic helped to give birth to fi lm criticism. So many people saw The Birth of a Nation that the fi lm is credited with widening the fi lm audience beyond the working class to include the middle class and intellectuals. Even President Woodrow Wilson saw it—at the fi rst screening of a movie at the White House—and was said to have declared that it was “like history written in lightning.” 4

Griffi th developed his script from The Clansman by his friend and fellow southerner, Thomas Dixon Jr. (also an acquaintance of President Wilson). From this popular play and novel of the Civil War and Reconstruction and with Wilson’s own History of the American People quoted directly in the fi lm’s intertitles—shots on screen with written information or lines of dialogue between scenes of action in silent fi lms—Griffi th shaped a fi lm with a distinct point of view on the events, politics, and politicians of its period despite depicting events nearly fi fty years in the past.

The story centers on two families: the Southern Camerons and the Northern Stonemans. Their friendship as the fi lm begins symbolizes a united country, but Griffi th’s politics soon become apparent: the “fi rst seeds of disunion,” one of the intertitles explains, were planted by the “bringing of the African to this country.” Griffi th blames the Civil War and its after-math on blacks and politicians—with the exception of Abraham Lincoln, who is treated reverentially. In a carefully composed scene replicating the signing of the proclamation call-ing up the fi rst troops, Lincoln is seated apart from the other politicians to make the point that he is different, that his only motive is to do good. When the signing is completed, the camera lingers on Lincoln, alone and looking haunted by what he has just done. Later, as the war comes to an end, he argues against those in his cabinet who would be vindictive toward the South. And when he is assassinated in another meticulously reconstructed sequence, the intertitle announces, “Our best friend is gone.” Exonerating Lincoln for the South’s troubles, Griffi th only underscores where blame lies in his view—not with either side at battle, nor with the institution of slavery, but with the Africans.

Griffi th’s once- happy families illustrate the consequences of these events when they are divided by a war that the movie labels “futile and abhorrent.” In the large and lavish battle sequences, masses of men move through the smoke of fi ring cannons, falling and dying. The younger sons of the Northern and Southern families die in each other’s arms, reiterat-ing Griffi th’s point that a hateful war sown by the presence of “the African” has divided a loving people.

As the fi ghting ends and Reconstruction begins, The Birth of a Nation follows Dixon’s story more closely, and its view of history grows more and more distorted and perverse. The elder Cameron brother returns to his impoverished, grieving family, which becomes the focus of the fi lm. Senator Stoneman, a representative of the evil, vindictive forces of Recon-struction, soon follows him. He hopes to build a presidential career by reorganizing the South with carpetbaggers, black voters, and black politicians. His only motive is personal ambition, encouraged by his evil, racially embittered mulatto house servant and mistress, Lydia. In a state legislature, we see Stoneman’s black puppets in power—slovenly, barefoot

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politicians slouching in their chambers and lustfully eyeing the white women in the galleries. Senator Stoneman’s immediate goal is to put his protégé, the mulatto Silas Lynch, in charge of the state, making him “the peer of any white man living.” Stoneman walks with a cane and a limp, while Lydia and Lynch are physically marked by the indication of their race: with such physical markers does Griffi th telegraph his characters’ intentions and infi rm nature. Stoneman’s ambition for Lynch sours in the end, when Lynch, daring to act as the white man’s peer, pursues Stoneman’s daughter Elsie, played by Griffi th’s longtime collaborator Lillian Gish. Stoneman applauds Lynch’s desire until the minute Lynch reveals the name of the object of his affection.

Meanwhile, another daughter precipitates a crisis. Flora Cameron (Mae Marsh), young-est member of the Southern family, skips into the woods to fetch water—an indication of how low the family has fallen since the war and an example of Griffi th’s frequent depic-tions of women as children. Diverted by the antics of a squirrel, she wanders too far and is spotted by Gus, an evil black man and former Union soldier. His eyes bulge with lust as he follows her through the woods; hers bulge with fear when she spots him. She runs, he follows, and she throws herself off a precipice rather than submit to the advances she assumes he is about to make. Meanwhile, her elder brother Ben, unaware of her plight, takes a solitary walk and wonders what can be done: the carpetbaggers are running the town, the black legislature has ruled interracial marriage lawful, and the Old South is falling apart. Then he sees some white children garbed in white sheets frightening black kids, and an idea is born. He forms a fraternity of white men who wreak vengeance as they ride through the night in white costumes “made by women,” according to the titles, and the Ku Klux Klan is born. They raise a fi ery cross “of Old Scotland” and consecrate it with the blood of Flora, who earlier died in Ben’s arms when he stumbled upon her during

In lower left, white actor Walter Long in blackface plays renegade freed slave Gus, watching as Flora (Mae Marsh) jumps to her death rather than let him touch her in The Birth of a Nation (1915).

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his walk. Their fi rst victim is Gus. In one version of the fi lm, the Klan castrates him. In the more commonly screened version, they lynch him and dump his dead body on Silas Lynch’s front porch.

The climax comes when angry blacks besiege the remaining Camerons in an isolated cabin and the Ku Klux Klan rides to the rescue, just as Silas Lynch is about to have his way with Elsie Stoneman. In one of the greatest chase sequences in American movies, Griffi th cuts from the galloping Klansmen to Silas and Elsie and then to the cabin. Parallel editing creates an exciting and emotional sequence as Cameron contemplates killing his remaining daughter before the marauding blacks can get their hands on her. Two former Union soldiers assist the Camerons to fend off the mob, the intertitle reiterating just where the fault for “disunion” lies: “The former enemies of North and South are united again in common defense of their Aryan birthright.” The scene ends happily: the Klan arrives in time, everybody is rescued, and Senator Stoneman is chastised for having betrayed not only his people but also his own daughter through his alliance with blacks. In the fi lm’s view, North and South, acting in “common defense,” give birth to a white nation unifi ed by the pain of war.

The Birth of a Nation was a vivid, dramatic rewriting of history that suited a lot of people at a time when blacks were migrating to the North in great numbers and racism was increas-ing there. Intentionally or not, Griffi th’s fi lm promoted the revival of the Ku Klux Klan outside the South; the Klan reportedly screened it for recruitment. The son of a Confederate offi cer, Griffi th was telling the story as Southerners saw it but also in a way viewed sympa-thetically by Northern elites. It was, of course, a distorted version of even basic facts. For example, blacks held majorities briefl y in only two state legislatures and never had much genuine power; the real problem for the South was the white carpetbaggers. But Griffi th’s message was regarded so seriously at the time that schoolchildren throughout the country were taken to his movie to learn history.

Revolting as its message seems now, The Birth of a Nation was the blockbuster of its day. Grossing a preinfl ationary $18 million, it was the second- biggest box offi ce success of the silent era. Immediately perceived as a classic, it was rereleased in 1921, 1922, and 1930. Some 200 million people saw it before 1946.

This movie was politically signifi cant not only because of its content and popularity but also because of the contemporary reaction to it. Latter- day viewers recognize its deeply offensive racism, often dismissing it too readily for that reason and perhaps assuming that audiences at the time of its original release were oblivious to its bias or approved of it. But objections to The Birth of a Nation in 1915 were intense. Many reviewers condemned its racism, including a New York Times critic who called it “infl ammatory” and “controversial” even as he praised it as an “impressive new illustration of the scope of the motion pic-ture camera.” 4 The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) organized a precedent- setting national boycott of the fi lm, probably the fi rst such effort and one of the most successful. There was a mass demonstration when the fi lm was shown in Boston, and it was banned in three states and several cities.

Griffi th, claiming to be shocked by these objections, denied that he was racist, although he warned that the NAACP favored interracial marriage. Nevertheless, the widespread criti-cism of Griffi th’s black characters—all of whom are either evil or stupid and, perhaps even more offensively, most of whom were played by white actors in blackface—forced him to

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delete some scenes of blacks molesting white women as well as the fi nal scene in which blacks are deported to Africa. He had already softened the racism of the novel by adding the “good souls,” the Camerons’ happy and loyal house servants. But these concessions did not silence the protesters, and their continued objections made other fi lmmakers skittish about including blacks in their movies. Except for a few happy servants like the “good souls,” blacks disappeared from mainstream movies until the 1940s.

The Birth of a Nation also portrayed women in a manner that now seems objectionable. Griffi th’s female characters are doll- like possessions of men; they are treated with reverence, but they are objects, sexual property that thus stands for national identity. Purity is all- important; death is preferable to defi lement, because if a white woman is defi led, the entire white South has been tarnished. Their value reduced to a potential birthing vessel, Elsie and Flora serve as metaphors for political ideology—better a racially “pure” new nation than a compromised, “mongrel” one. The constructive task for Griffi th’s women is making the Klan robes. The one exception is the lascivious Lydia, Stoneman’s mulatto housekeeper and mistress, who uses sex to manipulate her man.

Griffi th’s portrait of politics and politicians makes use of stereotypes and conventions that later became entrenched in the movies. He uses, for example, the contrasting stereotypes of the saintly leader (Lincoln) and the evil politician (Stoneman and Lynch). He also provides the kind of populist, collective solution that is seen in later political fi lms: instead of seeking a leader to help them or working through the regular political process, Griffi th’s oppressed white Southerners band together, forming a vigilante group, and take the law into their own hands.

Griffi th’s main concern, however, was rewriting the history of the South and the Civil War, and he was well aware of the power of his medium. He saw fi lm as an educational tool, and he set out to use it as such—an intention that was in itself political. The Birth of a Nation was the fi rst important American political fi lm not only because it reshaped the image of the South but also because it infl uenced the way Americans thought about politics—in addition to its encouragement of racism and the revival of the Ku Klux Klan.

In response to the protests against and “intolerance” of Birth of a Nation by various crit-ics and audiences, Griffi th’s next major project was Intolerance (1916). It consists of four interwoven stories, set in different historical periods, each about the theme of intolerance. In the modern story, an evil industrialist pursues a typical Griffi th heroine whose sweetheart is involved with a sleazy political machine. When the lustful capitalist falsely accuses the boy to get him out of the way, the girl saves him by appealing to the governor. A good politician and laws that protect the innocent bring to this story a happy ending that stands in contrast to the suffering of persecuted innocents, including Christ on the cross, in the three other tales. Made partly to refute the charges of racism provoked by The Birth of a Nation , Intolerance condemns persecution and criticizes the excesses of capitalism—only to be labeled “Com-munist” itself. 6 But in Orphans of the Storm (1921), a movie about the French Revolution, Griffi th makes it clear that the rule of the masses is not acceptable either. “The tyranny of kings and nobles is hard to bear,” reads one of the titles, “but the tyranny of the mob under blood- lusting rulers is intolerable.” All of Griffi th’s movies with political themes—from the one- reelers to The Birth of a Nation , Intolerance , and beyond—portrayed politics and politi-cians in much the same way, however. Most politicians were evil and corrupt, motivated by base self- interest.

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The Twenties: Corruption and Redemption

Most of the 10,000 or so fi lms that were produced during the 1920s were domestic mel-odramas, westerns, comedies, love stories, costume dramas, or crime movies, but a few straightforward fi lms about politics were made despite the ominous presence of the Hays Offi ce (discussed in Chapter 3 ). The American Film Institute (AFI) index for this period lists fewer than 200 feature fi lms with political themes, although this may be a conservative estimate because the index’s defi nition of politics is narrow. 7

One safe political topic showed up early in the decade in a group of fi lms refl ecting para-noia about the revolution in Russia and unionization at home. Put those two fears together and you have the Bolshevik labor organizers who are the villains in more than a dozen movies of the time. In Dangerous Hours (1920), for example, Russian agitators infi ltrate American industry, but their efforts to foment a strike are foiled by a good American hero.

Another favorite villain is the political boss. Scheming politicians who indulge in seduc-tion, graft, and blackmail show up in Manslaughter (1922), By Divine Right (1924), The Blind Goddess (1926), A Boy in the Streets (1927), Broken Barriers (1928), and Apache Raiders (1928). In Wild Honey (1922), a political boss scorned by the heroine schemes to fl ood a river valley but is foiled when she saves her true love as well as the settlers and the valley. In Contraband (1925), the town’s leading politician is exposed as a gangster leader, and in The Vanishing American (1926), corrupt government agents cheat decent Indians.

Unique for the time and even today, Her Honor the Governor (1926) features a female politician as its central character. Although this fi lm’s heroine is the governor, a political boss holds the real power in her state. After she blocks a water project that is dear to his heart, he frames her son for murder. The governor’s son is convicted, but she cannot pardon him because she herself is impeached. Finally, the truth comes out and all is well, but the

Beneath a portrait of Abraham Lincoln, African- American schoolteacher Sylvia (Evelyn Preer) defends herself against white, wealthy Gridlestone (Grant Gorman) in black fi lmmaker Oscar Micheaux’s Within Our Gates (1920), a reaction against The Birth of a Nation .

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governor caves in, retires from politics, and remarries, sending the ultimate message that politics is evil and best avoided by honest people.

Other fi lms of the 1920s, however, see politics as redemptive. What Every Woman Knows (1921) and The Battling Mason (1924) feature formerly sinful men who run for offi ce to prove to the women they love that they have reformed. In other movies, heroes and heroines redeem themselves by exposing crooked political bosses and civic corruption. In One Glori-ous Day (1924), for instance, a meek professor defeats a gang of political scoundrels after he is nominated for mayor. In That Old Gang of Mine (1925), a nasty political situation is cleaned up when the opponents reminisce about their common roots, unite, and overcome a still nastier enemy. In Law and Order (1928), a boss is transformed into a reformer as a result of the love of a good woman. All of these movies focus more on politics than those in which the politician is clearly the villain, and all are relatively positive about the potential value of political activity. Some even suggest that we can fi ght city hall and win.

Social Criticism

A few movies of the 1920s clearly offered social criticism without focusing specifi cally on politicians and government. Perhaps the most renowned of these is Erich von Stroheim’s Greed (1923), based on the novel McTeague by Frank Norris. Von Stroheim’s original ver-sion took over nine hours to tell the grim story of California immigrants and their destruction by the capitalist system and their own avarice. Filmed in part in Death Valley’s unremitting heat, Greed ’s naturalistic, stripped- down look suggested its grim political critique. Louis B. Mayer literally knocked von Stroheim to the ground over the fi lm and producer Irving Thal-berg cut it to three hours. With only fragments of it still in existence, Greed is considered a lost masterpiece of uncompromising realism. Perhaps tellingly, however, Greed was rejected by audiences at the time. “Spectators laughed and laughed heartily at the audacity of the director,” reported the New York Times . 8

King Vidor, one of Hollywood’s most prolifi c directors and one whose perspective was solidly from the left, made more successful social commentaries. His antiwar fi lm, The Big Parade (1925), was the biggest box offi ce hit of the silent era. It tells the story of a trio of young men who succumb to social pressure and enlist in the army during World War I. They soon learn that war is horrible, and their romantic illusions dissipate. When the survivor of the trio goes home, he discovers that he has lost his girl to his brother, who stayed behind to manage the family business. Disillusionment with the war is compounded by disillusion-ment with the attitudes of the people at home.

The Big Parade was a resolute, but not heavy- handed, antiwar fi lm. Audiences loved it, partly because it dealt with a war that was still vivid in their memories. The critics also approved. Calling it “a romance with war as the villain,” the New York Times rated it one of the ten best fi lms of 1925 (the newspaper’s annual ratings were just starting). 9 Disillusion-ment with World War I was common, and isolationism was the key concept of America’s foreign policy. Vidor followed The Big Parade with The Crowd in 1928, the story of a young couple struggling for success to differentiate themselves from “the crowd.” A softer version of Greed , this fi lm is a tough commentary on urban alienation—at least until the couple strike it rich in a happy ending that was added over Vidor’s objections. This imposed ending, like the drastic cutting of Greed , illustrates the conservatism and the power of the studios in the 1920s.

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Sound and the Depression Mark the End of an Era

Films’ lack of political boldness in the 1920s no doubt refl ected the fi lmmakers’ fear of censorship, and the Hays Offi ce soon institutionalized that caution. Change came swiftly at the end of the decade, however, as sound came to the movies and the Great Depression descended on the nation. In 1929, nine “audible” fi lms ranked among the New York Times ’s top ten movies, yet even in 1930 sound was still enough of a novelty for critics to marvel at the battle noise in All Quiet on the Western Front .

Sound had a special impact on political movies because it gave words greater power in relation to images and thus facilitated the expression of more complex stories and ideas, allowing political fi lms to escape from the realm of pure melodrama and coded gestur-ing. Directors who were grounded in the silents and whose work was highly visual often stuck with images to communicate political concepts, but for others, words were liberating. Words made it easier to express political ideas, but in a way sound was a mixed blessing for political fi lms. The Big Speech, pounding in the message with a sledgehammer, often spoils political movies.

While fi lmmakers were learning to put words and images together, the prosperous 1920s came to a precipitous end with the stock market crash of 1929 and the Great Depression. Political change was in the wind, and Hollywood soon refl ected that change. What followed was one of the most political periods in the history of American movies.

Notes

1 . I.C. Jarvie, Movies as Social Criticism (London: Scarecrow, 1978). 2 . Scott Simmon, The Films of D.W. Griffi th (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 62. 3 . Kevin Brownlow, The Parade’s Gone By (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968), p. 26. 4 . Arthur Knight, The Liveliest Art (New York: Signet, 1979), p. 23, and many others. Phil Hall,

however, asserts that the quote is only an “urban legend” and that “Wilson was never quoted by any journalist on the subject of the fi lm.” Phil Hall, “The 10 Best Urban Legends in Film History,” www.fi lmthreat.com/features/932/.

5 . New York Times , March 4, 1915. 6 . Larry May, Screening Out the Past (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980), p. 86. 7 . Kenneth W. Munden, American Film Institute Subject Index to Films of the 1920s (New York:

Bowker, 1971). 8 . New York Times , December 5, 1924. 9 . New York Times , January 10, 1926.

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Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)

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The Great Depression and the advent of sound marked the beginning of an extraordinary period for American movies. By 1930, 23,000 movie theaters—the most ever in the United States—were screening fi lms for 90 million people a week. Attendance slipped during the Depression and did not fully recover until the late 1940s. In the early 1930s, however, Hollywood was churning out more than 500 fi lms a year, an output made possible by the factory- like production methods of the ever- growing studios, which also owned most of the theaters they were servicing. The huge volume of fi lms produced during the 1930s resulted in a diversity of subject matter rarely matched in the history of American movies. The demand for a large number of movies accounts in part for the abundance of political fi lms made in those years.

This was also an intensely political era, with the Great Depression driving the nation to desperation and Franklin Delano Roosevelt riding to the rescue with his New Deal. This turmoil affected the movies. The Depression caused a widespread questioning of traditional values, faith in the rewards for hard work, and the fairness of the American system. This questioning was most apparent in the social issue fi lms of the early 1930s. At fi rst, the movies were cynical and despairing, offering no hope of salvation, but soon they grew opti-mistic, offering simple solutions that usually involved reliance on a strong leader. Some fl irted with fascism, but others promoted Roosevelt’s New Deal. Once the New Deal was well established, however, the output of social criticism and political fi lms almost ceased.

A coherent political left emerged in Hollywood in the 1930s as a result of the Depression, the popularity of Roosevelt, and the organization of unions. Although its presence infl u-enced some movies, conservative forces within the fi lm industry were more powerful. Film production had become more rigidly organized and more dependent on bankers and other investors, often from conservative eastern institutions. These investors were more conserva-tive both aesthetically and politically than the Hollywood producers.

Social Cynicism

One of the fi rst big hits of the era was a political movie intended by its producer to be “a great work for peace,” bringing “home the wastefulness of war.” 1 More than 100 million people have seen All Quiet on the Western Front (1930) by now. The movie was, and still is, a success with audiences and critics alike. The fi lm industry must have liked it, too, because it won Academy Awards for Best Picture and Best Direction, marking the beginning of a long tradition of Oscars for message movies.

Taken from Erich Maria Remarque’s antiwar novel, the fi lm tells the story of a German soldier in World War I. In a way, it resembles the great box offi ce successes of the silent era, The Big Parade and The Birth of a Nation . All Quiet on the Western Front , however, focuses not on an American victim of the war, but on a highly sympathetic German soldier (Lew Ayres), whose ghastly experiences are quite similar to those of the central character in The Big Parade . All Quiet pushes the antiwar message a little further than the earlier fi lm with the soldiers’ speculation about the causes of war, a passage more easily achieved with the dialogue of a sound fi lm than with the images and titles of a silent. One young soldier blames national leaders for the war; another says its causes are rooted in pride; a third blames those who profi t from war; a fourth says that things just got out of hand.

Crime and violence dominated the action in movies like Little Caesar (1930) and Pub-lic Enemy (1931), but these fi lms also deal with class and ethnic confl ict, refl ecting the

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emerging doubts and questions about how well the American system was working. “Could this system save itself from the Depression?” the movies ask. Could ethnic minorities and the working class count on the system to save them? The answers provided by the gangster movies were not very optimistic. About the best you can do, they seem to say, is to stand up and die honorably, with guns blazing. Although the gangsters are punished in the end, they are usually treated with some sympathy and even admiration, and the movies frequently sug-gest that society has made them what they are.

While the gangster fi lms criticized society somewhat indirectly, comics like W.C. Fields, Mae West, and the Marx Brothers made fun of it. All were in their prime in the 1930s, and all of them challenged traditional values, from morality to authority. The Marx Brothers’ Duck Soup (1933) is their most direct assault on politics, with Groucho as the tin- pot dic-tator of Fredonia leading his nation into a farcical war. At the other end of the spectrum, horror movies such as Frankenstein (1931) and Dracula (1931) subliminally addressed the Depression- era audience’s deepest fears.

Like the staccato gunfi re of the gangster movies and the fast talk of the comedies, the up- tempo songs and tap dances of the musicals of the early 1930s celebrated sound. Musicals presented an upbeat outlook on life and on the future, but they did not always skirt the prob-lems of the times. Gold Diggers of 1933 , for example, opens with Ginger Rogers singing “We’re in the Money,” but her ironic song is interrupted by workers arriving to repossess the sets and costumes for the show she is rehearsing. Despite their eviction, however, the kids of the cast get a show together. Their big number is “Remember My Forgotten Man,” a Depression dirge about veterans who fought in World War I and farmed the land but are forgotten in their hour of need.

The Gold Diggers movies (1933 and 1935), Footlight Parade (1933), 42nd Street (1933), and other musicals portrayed groups pulling together to overcome adversity, although at least one critic has suggested that directors like the one played by James Cagney in Footlight Parade signifi ed dependence on a strong leader like Roosevelt. 2 While the gangster fi lms refl ect the despair of the Depression, the musicals incorporate the optimism of the New Deal. Instead of giving up and going out with a blast, like Little Caesar, chorus boys and girls could work hard and become stars.

No star better epitomized this up- by- your- bootstraps self- determination than the top box offi ce draw of the decade, and one of American cinema’s most enduring fi gures, the child star Shirley Temple. In the grinding despair and economic scarcity of the Great Depression, Shirley Temple literally radiated from the screen with hope and cheerfulness even when playing impoverished child parts in fi lms like Baby Takes a Bow (1934). Of that fi lm Presi-dent Roosevelt said, “When the spirit of the people is lower than at any time during this Depression, it is a splendid thing that for just fi fteen cents, an American can go to a movie and look at the smiling face of a baby and forget his troubles.” 3

Her stardom accompanied Roosevelt’s rise as her fi lms offered a template for Depression- era propaganda: no matter how dire her circumstances, she never lost her image of free- spirited dignity and joyful determination. She was fortitude and hope personifi ed, just the message Americans needed to forge ahead in their own lives and to accept the limited nature of government assistance even in the New Deal era. Charles Eckert argues even further that the ideological function of Shirley Temple’s image in her fi lms and in the print media that saturated the country with information about “Little Miss Sunshine” was to pro-mote a particular class- based view of what she was always seen to do: give of herself. The

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meaning of Temple’s image was to promote charitable giving and private assistance in place of government action and entitlement programs. Of her mid- 1930s plucky yet charitable persona, Eckert writes,

The ideology of charity was the creation of a class intent upon motivating others to absorb the economic burdens imposed by the depression. This privileged class regarded itself as possessed of initiative, as self- made through hard work. And it saw in all governmental plans for aid a potential subversion of the doctrine of initiative. Money as a charitable gift was benevolent, whereas money in the form of a (government) dole was destructive. 4

This view of government’s responsibility—or lack thereof—toward the poor and underser-viced, in Eckert’s view, found its most persuasive expression in the image of the dimpled, smiling “face of a baby,” as she sang and danced and magically healed the rift between classes through the sheer force of her off- screen personality and repeated characterization in fi lms.

Many of the gangster fi lms and musicals came from Warner Bros., which has been called “the workingman’s studio,” not only because of the audience it aimed for but also because its fi lms contained more social comment than most other examples of the two popular genres. But Warner Bros. went beyond genre to produce some of the most powerful message movies of the 1930s. I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (1932), directed by Mervyn LeRoy (who also directed Little Caesar ), is a pessimistic study of the victimization of an innocent man by the American legal system. Paul Muni plays the fugitive, driven further and further outside society and unable, despite his efforts, to overcome the forces against him. Unlike most fi lms of the era, Chain Gang makes no attempt at a happy ending. A modest success with audi-ences and critics, the movie won Academy Award nominations for Best Film and Best Actor (Muni), demonstrating again the willingness of the fi lm industry to honor serious movies.

Shirley Temple’s star image championed up- by- your- bootstraps initiative over government assistance in Depression- era fi lms like Baby Takes a Bow (1934).

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More upbeat endings refl ecting the nation’s longing for what fi lm scholar Andrew Bergman labels “benevolent authorities” 5 were provided by other Warner productions, however. In Wild Boys of the Road (1933), a judge saves the juvenile victims of the Depression, while in Massacre (1934), the federal government, a symbol of the New Deal, steps in to save the good Indians from their exploiters, just as it would save the nation.

Shysters and Saviors

Explicitly political fi lms about government and elected offi cials nearly became a genre in and of themselves during the early 1930s, as a nation dissatisfi ed with the way it had been governed by President Herbert Hoover’s complacent Republicans searched for new solu-tions and a new leader. Nevertheless, the political fi lms of the early 1930s were cynical about the possibility of improvement. They projected the nation’s disillusionment and held out little hope of change for the better. Most presented politicians as crooks and shysters; only later did a few saviors appear.

Several of these movies were comedies, among them Politics (1931), in which the for-midable Marie Dressler, then Hollywood’s top box offi ce draw, plays a housekeeper who becomes mayor when the women of the town go on strike in her support. The fi lm’s mildly feminist politics and upbeat ending were unusual for the early 1930s—more like fi lms of the musical genre than other political fi lms of the time.

The Phantom President (1932) combined the musical and comedy genres in a tale about mistaken identity involving a presidential candidate and an entertainer, both played by George M. Cohan. In the fi lm’s prologue, portraits of Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, and Theodore Roosevelt come to life to sing “The Country Needs a Man” to lead it out of the Depression. A gang of political bosses is running Theodore K. Blair, a banker, for president, but Blair has “no fl air” and, as a woman senator keeps mentioning, “no sex appeal.” By chance the bosses come across Varney, a look- alike medicine man and minstrel. “Every time the Congress goes in session,” Varney sings, “they achieve a gain in the Depression. Maybe someone ought to wave the fl ag!” The politicians know that the country needs “a sober man,” but the public wants someone with “ginger and pizzazz” who can deliver “a musical comedy presidential campaign,” so the bosses persuade the minstrel to substitute for the candidate temporarily. “I do the act and he takes the bows,” Varney says. Blair grows envious and tries to get rid of Varney, but the plot is revealed and Varney is elected president in his own name. A lightweight comedy, The Phantom President reiterates popular clichés about politicians. A close- up of a horse’s rump fades to a close- up of an orating politician’s face. The country is run by bosses and buffoons, and the people are fools, easily seduced by “a musical comedy presidential campaign.” But lest the message seem too cynical, The Phantom President opts for what was becoming the movie- cliché solution to all problems: a good man.

The Dark Horse (1932), yet another comedy, was a greater popular and critical success with more to say about politics. A naive nobody is nominated for governor and ruthlessly packaged by his managers. The candidate is coached always to give the same answer to the press: “Yes—and again, no.” The fi lm still rings true to some extent, possibly because today we are even more aware of the packaging of candidates. But while the message was funny, it was also cynical: politics was all pretense and manipulation, an unlikely means of salvation.

Like these comedies, melodramas of the 1930s also conveyed a cynical view of politics. In Washington Masquerade (1932), a young senator fi ghts “the Interests” behind a corrupt

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water project. Although seduced and diverted by an evil woman they set on him, he redeems himself by testifying against “the Interests” before he dies. Washington Merry- Go- Round (1932) tells a similar story. A young man is elected to Congress with the help of bosses, but when he attempts to rally reformers in Washington he is shocked to discover that the politi-cians are all there to get something for themselves. The political machine unseats him, but he has already discovered “an invisible government” led by a sinister boss. “I have plans,” says the boss. “Italy has her Mussolini, Russia her Stalin. Such a man will come along in America!” After a message- laden moment of meditation in the Lincoln Memorial, our reformer rallies the unemployed to take the law into their own hands and force the evil boss to commit suicide. Like the comedies, these Washington melodramas saw politics as cor-rupt, but they had a solution: a good man. Despite corruption, these fi lms said, one good man could make the system work.

Gabriel over the White House (1933) had a different vision, however, moving from whimsical fantasy to the implication that a fascist leader could solve the nation’s problems. Publisher William Randolph Hearst was a major infl uence on the fi lm, even contributing to the script, although the major auteur of Gabriel was producer Walter Wanger. A member of President Wilson’s staff at the Paris Peace Conference, Wanger was a friend of President Roosevelt and one of Hollywood’s most political producers ( Washington Merry- Go- Round , 1932; The President Vanishes, 1934; Blockade , 1938).

Gabriel is the story of Jud Hammond (Walter Huston), a political hack who becomes president by making the right deals, who plans to stay in offi ce by paying off the right peo-ple with jobs and contracts, and who shows little interest in dealing with the Depression and crime—mere “local problems,” he scoffs. Hammond has an accident while taking a joyride in the country (symbolic of an economy out of control, say some fi lm scholars), 6 and at this point the angel Gabriel intervenes. The hack is transformed into a benevolent leader, com-mitted to solving the nation’s problems by the most effi cient means possible. Using radio as his communication medium (a technique Franklin Roosevelt was just beginning to exploit), he inspires the nation, gets the powers he wants from Congress, which he then suspends, and proceeds to feed the hungry, eradicate unemployment, and end crime by declaring martial law and sending out the army to destroy the gangsters (the only cause of crime) by putting them before fi ring squads without benefi t of trial. He then eliminates war, too, by bullying the rest of the world into joining the United States in a disarmament agreement. With the problems of the nation and the world solved, the angel Gabriel disposes of the president, presumably to protect us from dictatorship.

When MGM boss Louis B. Mayer and Will Hays of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors Association (MPPDA) saw an early screening of Gabriel , they were appalled, not because of the fi lm’s fascist implications, but because it seemed pro- Roosevelt and they were staunch Republicans. Mayer took the fi lm in hand, reshooting some scenes and toning others down.

The fi lm premiered just before President Roosevelt took offi ce. An instant hit, it was one of the big box offi ce draws of 1933 and also won critical approval. “For its uncannily prophetic foreshadowing of the spirit of President Roosevelt’s fi rst month in offi ce . . . for putting into fi lm what scores of millions think our government should do,” gushed Photoplay , “this will unquestionably be one of this year’s most talked- of pictures.” 7 Some members of Congress complained, but President Roosevelt enjoyed the fi lm and saw it several times.

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Film scholars view Gabriel as an expression of longing for strong leadership bordering on fascism. Their case is strengthened by the fact that Hearst, widely considered a fascist sympathizer, was a principal backer of the fi lm. Certainly the movie proposes a dictatorship, albeit a benevolent one, and the police in the movie behave in a fascist manner. But this view probably exaggerates the intentions of the fi lmmakers, who more likely merely wanted to encourage strong leadership and amuse the audience. In most ways, Gabriel is like other American political fi lms: it sees politics as dirty, dominated by shysters, and redeemable only by a miracle, in this case the intervention of an angel. Gabriel is different from other fi lms, however, in that it willingly, if fantastically, accepts the overthrow of democracy.

Producer Wanger followed Gabriel with The President Vanishes (1934), a more benign and less successful fi lm with a more distinct leftist bias. The threat in The President Vanishes comes from a right- wing coalition of big businessmen, corrupt politicians, and fascist Gray Shirts plotting to drag the United States into a war in Europe in order to make profi ts for the arms industry. They are foiled when the president fakes his own kidnapping and disap-pears on the very day Congress is set to declare war. Public sympathy turns to the president, and when he returns, the country is mobilized for peace. While The President Vanishes is an overtly antifascist fi lm, it, too, refl ects pessimism about democracy. In it, the public is manipulated fi rst one way, then the other. As in so many American political fi lms, one man saves the day.

Other Visions

While some fi lms put their faith in a strong leader, Viva Villa (1934) offered a revolutionary alternative. Its location shots, fi lmed in Mexico, are still impressive, but Wallace Beery’s folksy Pancho Villa comes off as a horny buffoon. The evil rich drive young Pancho to banditry until Francisco Madero, reverentially portrayed as a Mexican Abe Lincoln, asks him to join the Revolution of 1910. When Madero is killed by a cabal of evil army offi cers, Villa reluctantly takes his place as leader. But he is a fi ghter, not a politician, and he is soon bewildered by the responsibilities of government. Once he gets the land reform that Madero had promised, Villa retires to the country. Unfortunately, his boisterous ways land him in exile, and in the end a man whose sister he’s dishonored assassinates him. The messages of this fi lm are mixed, to say the least. Viva Villa seems to say that revolution is sometimes justifi able, but it is fraught with diffi culties.

The best alternative vision and the most radical fi lm of the 1930s, Our Daily Bread (1934), came from King Vidor, the maker of The Big Parade and The Crowd . Improbably inspired by a Reader’s Digest article on collective farms, this fi lm is the story of the itinerant unem-ployed of the Depression. Tom and Mary, an all- American couple, fl ee the hopeless life of unemployment in the city to take over a bankrupt farm. They are joined by other itinerants, each of whom has a useful skill to offer. A thriving cooperative community is soon estab-lished. This utopia is nearly subverted by a blonde temptress from the city who lures Tom away from the collective endeavor. His conscience soon brings him back, however, and the farm is saved when its irrigation problems are solved by a cooperative ditch- building effort. The opening of the ditch—presented in a dramatic montage sequence—is the fi lm’s climax.

The collective politics of Our Daily Bread puts it well out of the American mainstream, yet in other ways it is consistent with the other fi lms of the era. It is anti- urban in its suggestion

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of a return to the land and to rural values, although this is an unrealistic solution in the dust bowl days of the Depression. Furthermore, threats to Tom and Mary’s rural enterprise come from city forces: a banker and the blonde seductress. More signifi cantly, despite its collec-tive rhetoric, Our Daily Bread insists on the need for a strong leader. The members of the co- op decide they need “a strong boss,” settling by acclamation (not election) on Tom, the fi lm’s Roosevelt- fi gure, according to Andrew Bergman. 8

Our Daily Bread is an impressive and unusual fi lm. Remarkably, it was a modest suc-cess at the box offi ce and even won some critical approval. Although the Hearst papers denounced it as “pinko” and the Los Angeles Times refused to accept advertising for it, the New York Times declared it “a brilliant declaration of faith in the importance of cinema as a social instrument . . . a social document of amazing vitality and emotional impact,” con-cluding that “it is impossible to overestimate [its] signifi cance.” 9 Other critics agreed on its worthiness, although some correctly pointed out that the acting and writing were turgid at best. Banks and the studios had refused to fi nance the fi lm, and its budget limitations are apparent in its production qualities. Today it is the spirit of the fi lm that holds up, especially in the dazzling ditch- building sequence. Although some judged it radical at the time, in ret-rospect the political message of Our Daily Bread —pulling together in hard times—does not seem much more radical than the message of some Depression musicals.

While Our Daily Bread expressed faith in collective action, other fi lms of the decade portrayed “the people” as a dangerous mob. In Fury (1936) and They Won’t Forget (1937), angry mobs resort to lynching. These fi lms were part of a national campaign against lynch-ing, which had reached a sickeningly high rate in the early 1930s. It seems odd in retrospect that the victims in the fi lms were both white while most real- life lynching victims were black, but Hollywood in the 1930s avoided racial issues and aimed its movies at a white audience.

In King Vidor’s radical Our Daily Bread (1934), itinerants form a farming cooperative and in communal spirit share their “daily bread,” even with tough- talking Sally (Barbara Pepper), a blonde temptress from the city.

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Two other fi lms of the era, Black Fury (1935) and Black Legion (1936), centered on Ameri-can workingmen who were led into misadventure by crooks. In Black Fury , a miner (Paul Muni) is duped into leading a strike by agents of a company that stands to make a profi t by breaking up the strike. And in Black Legion , Humphrey Bogart joins a Ku Klux Klan-like, anti- foreigner group that turns out to be a profi t- making venture for its organizer. Both fi lms played on the foolishness of the people and the ease with which they could be misled.

These movies and others of the era expressed a theme that runs through American fi lms: a mistrust of the people and collective action. Despite America’s revolutionary and democratic heritage and all the “we the people” rhetoric, American fi lmmakers have not manifested great faith in the people who make up their audiences. Except for occasional nonmain-stream movies like Our Daily Bread , group endeavor is rarely depicted in a positive manner. More often, the group turns into a lynch mob or passively follows venal leaders. These movie themes may have refl ected the American establishment’s genuine fear of revolution in the 1930s. The Depression had put the masses on the move. Union activism and left- wing political movements reached a high point. Roosevelt’s New Deal was, in some ways, a con-cession to these forces and, in others, a way of buying them off, thus preventing revolution. And the movies played their part in this process by discouraging collective movements that challenged the nation’s basic political and economic structures.

Politics in Movieland

As the messages of these fi lms suggest, fi lmmakers were becoming more interested and active in politics. In national politics, some movie moguls such as the Warners, and Hearst, owner of Cosmopolitan Pictures, were enthusiastically pro- Roosevelt; others, like Louis B. Mayer at MGM, remained militantly Republican. They were unifi ed, however, in 1934, when they intervened in politics more blatantly than ever before or perhaps since.

Upton Sinclair, the socialist novelist, had won the Democratic Party nomination for gov-ernor of California and might have been elected had it not been for a combined fi lm and print media smear, the biggest up to that time. Apparently terrifi ed by the popularity of social-ist Sinclair, the state’s leading newspapers, with the Hearst press in the forefront, accused Sinclair of being a Communist, a homosexual, and an atheist. Meanwhile, the fi lm studios produced anti- Sinclair trailers that looked like newsreels and screened them in their theaters all over the state.

Other political divisions followed. Film workers wanted to form unions, but the pro-ducers resisted; no wonder their fi lms showed a mistrust of mobs and rarely dealt with labor relations. The Communist Party reached the peak of its popularity in the 1930s, too. In Hollywood, Communist organizers pushed hard for the formation of unions, and many Depression- radicalized liberals joined the party. When the Spanish Civil War began in 1936, the anti- fascist cause became a rallying point for the Hollywood left.

These leftist leanings, however, rarely showed up on the screen, possibly because Holly-wood’s self- censors would have quashed them anyway. Over the years, Will Hays’s MPPDA had become more than a mere symbol of self- regulation. As discussed in Chapter 3 , the establishment worried about sexual mores in the movies and about gangster movies, which allegedly encouraged the lower classes to rebel. 10

Even as the advisory code was toughened up, Mae West, the Marx Brothers, and the makers of gangster fi lms challenged it. Mae West’s She Done Him Wrong (1933) and Walter

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Wanger’s Gabriel over the White House especially alarmed Will Hays, who warned movie-makers away from fi lms about sex, violence, and any political stance that might give offense.

Hollywood found a way to get around Hays’s Production Code and keep violent action in movies by shifting its focus from gangsters to lawmen, but few political fi lms were made in the mid- 1930s. Perhaps fi lmmakers and audiences lost interest in politics because they now had a president they trusted to lead them out of the Depression. But the Code was also a factor in discouraging political fi lms, as was establishment concern about political unrest. Besides the anti- lynching movies ( Fury , They Won’t Forget ) and the movies about duped workingmen ( Black Legion , Black Fury ), the mid- 1930s produced only Cecil B. DeMille’s nation- building epics ( The Plainsman and Union Pacifi c ) and a few comedies such as First Lady (1937), which played on the Hillary- esque idea of a president’s wife as the power behind the scenes. There was nothing to match Gabriel , Our Daily Bread , or the other seri-ous political fi lms of the beginning of the decade. At the very end of the decade, however, political fi lms made a comeback.

The Politics of Dorothy and Scarlett

Two of America’s classic fi lms, The Wizard of Oz and Gone With the Wind , were released in 1939. Both were directed by Victor Fleming and both became Variety “Box Offi ce Cham-pions.” Both were also fi lmed in color, which may have helped them hold favor with later audiences.

The Wizard of Oz had no overt politics or political intentions, but some latter- day critics managed to discern political messages. The Scarecrow and the Tin Man, for example, were supposed to represent a longing for a populist alliance between farmers and factory workers, a dream that may have occurred to the author of the Oz books, but one that had faded by the time the fi lm was made. The fake leadership of the wizard, all promise without delivery, was a more apparent political theme, refl ecting a common view of politicians. The Wizard of Oz concluded with the message of most Hollywood musicals: have faith in your own ability to solve your problems. Like earlier Depression musicals, however, it also suggested that group support helped.

Most people do not think of Gone With the Wind as being any more political than The Wizard of Oz , but the fi lm that swept the Oscars and led in box offi ce receipts for 1939 has its political themes. After all, it is about the Civil War and is even more resolutely pro- Southern than The Birth of a Nation . The sacrifi ce and suffering of the South are made much of, while the depiction of Reconstruction features crude, greedy carpetbaggers swarming over the vanquished South. Like the Southern gentlemen in the earlier movie, Ashley (Leslie Howard) and Frank (Scarlett’s second husband) go off to a “political meeting,” apparently a KKK raid, during which Frank is killed. Unlike The Birth of a Nation , however, the Klan is not presented as the savior of the South. Instead, Scarlett (Vivian Leigh) eschews collective action and offers her determined individualism and faith in the land as the answer. Her indi-vidualism is mitigated somewhat by the fi lm’s condemnation of her selfi shness and by her willingness to save her plantation not only for herself but also for her family and its faithful retainers. Nevertheless, Gone With the Wind , like The Birth of a Nation , romanticized the Old South and helped entrench American racism, a bias that probably had more political impact than its other messages. Critics pointed out the racism of Gone With the Wind , just

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as they had done with the earlier fi lm, but there was less general outrage, perhaps because none of the black characters in Gone With the Wind were evil and because Scarlett’s mammy (Hattie McDaniel, who won an Oscar for the role) served as the sympathetic moral arbiter of the fi lm.

Mr. Smith

Although Gone With the Wind and The Wizard of Oz were not primarily about politics, the other great hit of 1939 was. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington was one of the most popular political fi lms ever made, coming in second only to Gone With the Wind in 1939 box offi ce receipts and Academy Award nominations.

Frank Capra, one of Hollywood’s most prolifi c, popular, and political directors, made Mr. Smith when he was at the height of his career. He had already directed a string of hits that included It Happened One Night (1934) and Lost Horizon (1937). He had shown an interest in politics with two of his earlier efforts: Forbidden (1932), a melodrama about a corrupt politician and a crusading reporter, and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), a movie about a small- town poet (Gary Cooper) who inherits a fortune and tries to spread it around during the Depression. Capra’s fi lms were characterized by an all- American hokeyness that the director himself called “Capracorn.” Others have called it populism, by which they seem to mean faith in the people. Although written by Sidney Buchman, who later admitted mem-bership in the Communist Party and was blacklisted, no such ideological proclivities were visible in Mr. Smith , which was distinctively Capra’s movie.

The story is set in motion by the death of a U.S. senator from a western state. Political boss Jim Taylor (Edward Arnold in one of his many boss roles) meets with his fl unky, the governor (Guy Kibbee in one of his many fl unky roles). Standing in shadow, the boss gives orders to his resistant, dejected fl unky, who sits in the light. Later, during a chaotic family dinner, the governor complains that he is unwilling because of “howling citizens” to appoint Boss Taylor’s man to the vacant Senate seat, and his children suggest that he appoint Jef-ferson Smith (James Stewart), the leader of the Boy Rangers. The governor likes the idea because the appointment would be popular and the inexperienced Smith could be managed by the state’s senior senator, Joseph Paine (Claude Rains), who happens to be Smith’s hero and, unbeknownst to Smith, a secret ally of Boss Jim Taylor.

Flattered, Smith accepts the appointment, and his arrival in Washington is a classic of American political cinema. A bunch of political hacks, all familiar faces from other movies, wait to hustle him into seclusion, but he slips away for a tour of the capital, seen in a stirring montage featuring the Jefferson Memorial, the Washington Monument, the White House, and the Capitol, accompanied by a medley of American patriotic songs. The tour concludes in the Lincoln Memorial as Smith listens to a child reading the Gettysburg Address to an old man.

The cynical Washington press corps soon shatters his idealism, however, making a fool of him at his fi rst press conference. When he complains, the reporters explain that it was their duty to expose him: “You’re not a senator, you’re a stooge!” Depressed, Smith determines to try to accomplish just one worthwhile goal during the short time he has in offi ce—a boys’ ranch for his home state. Clarissa Saunders (Jean Arthur), the aide of the dead senator, agrees to help him. The land Smith wants for his boys turns out to be part of a corrupt water project

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included in a bill being carried by Senator Paine for Boss Taylor. When Taylor fi nds out, he threatens and then slanders Smith, who retreats, devastated, to the Lincoln Memorial. Saunders, who by now is in love with him, fi nds him there and inspires him to fi ght back. Later, as she coaches from the gallery, he embarks on a fi libuster, blocking Senate action for as long as he can speak in the hope that public opinion back home can be rallied to his cause before the bill comes up for a vote. As the fi libuster gets under way, H.V. Kaltenborn, a real- life contemporary radio newscaster, explains the process to the audience and notes that “the diplomatic gallery includes envoys of two dictator powers, here to see what they can’t see at home: democracy in action!”

The camera stares down at the fi libustering hero, dwarfed in the immaculately repro-duced Senate chamber. Capra’s message—that this is a little guy struggling against large forces—cannot be missed. Smith’s call for support from the folks back home is suppressed by the boss, who controls the press and uses it to smear Smith. But the reporters and young Senate aides cheer Smith on in Washington while back home his Boy Rangers print a leafl et in an attempt to get the truth out. All this is done in a fast- paced montage that culminates with an anti- Smith rally at home and the dumping of sacks of mail opposing him in the Senate chamber. Dejected, Smith is prepared to admit defeat when Senator Paine, who is ashamed of what he has done to further his presidential ambitions, rushes out of the Senate chamber to attempt suicide. When his effort is foiled, he blurts out the truth, and the fi lm ends as the Senate erupts into chaos and we assume, according to cinema convention, that Smith has triumphed.

Capra’s message in Mr. Smith , as in his other movies, is simplistic: a problem caused by bad men—not the fault of the system or its institutions—can be fi xed by good men with the support of the people. Even some of the apparently bad guys, like Rains’s senator, do the right thing when they get a chance. Although the country was still in the Depression, Capra’s faith in the system was unshaken, perhaps because of his own Horatio Alger-like rise from poor Sicilian immigrant to Oscar- winning Hollywood fi lmmaker. Mr. Smith has been labeled “populist” because it seems to show faith in “the people,” but its message is more complicated, perhaps darker, than that. It shows faith in one man—Smith, as Everyman—but it is hard to see how the fi lm shows faith in a public that is so easily manipulated. Even the faith in one good man does not stand up to scrutiny. Smith is saved from losing only by Senator Paine, who gives up everything when he tries to shoot him-self, the action that brings out the truth. Smith and the people are saved by Paine’s crisis of conscience and bad aim.

Capra’s movie presents a prototypical American view of politics, with messages and a style that recur in other movies about politics, but also it accurately observes some aspects of the workings of politics, including the process of appointing a senator, the Senate’s insti-tutional clubbiness, the fi libuster as a parliamentary device, and the job of presiding over the Senate. The fi lm recognizes the power of the press as well as the importance of public opinion in both Smith’s appointment and his legislative battle.

If Mr. Smith seems somewhat conservative now, moviegoers in 1939 did not see it that way. Written by a confi rmed leftist (Buchman), Mr. Smith won the applause of the left, pre-sumably because it showed the enemy as an evil boss with economic interests and placed its faith in the common man. Washington, however, hated Mr. Smith . When it premiered in the capital, journalists complained that the movie portrayed them as cynical hacks, a movie stereotype of the time—although in Mr. Smith they were allowed to redeem themselves by

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rallying around the hero in the end. The politicians were even more upset. One senator called it “grotesque distortion,” while another denounced it as “exactly the kind of picture the dic-tators of totalitarian governments would like their subjects to see.” Joseph Kennedy, father of the future president and then ambassador to Britain, tried to prevent the fi lm from being shown in Europe because he thought it reinforced Nazi propaganda about the corruption of democracy and would demoralize the Allies. Efforts were made to buy up the fi lm and sup-press it, but they failed. 11

Such strong reactions to so moderate a movie show just how narrow the limits on political fi lms were. Only the fact that Mr. Smith Goes to Washington was a box offi ce success can have encouraged Hollywood to make other political fi lms.

Ford and Fonda

While Frank Capra was establishing James Stewart as one of America’s most enduring images of the good man, John Ford was doing the same for Henry Fonda. These two direc-tors repeatedly took up political themes, with Ford generally perceived as conservative and Capra as liberal. The two reassuring actors were also frequently cast in political roles, and eventually Stewart became associated with conservatism and Fonda with liberalism. All four names crop up repeatedly in the history of American political fi lms.

Ford fi rst worked with Fonda in 1939 on Drums Along the Mohawk and Young Mr. Lincoln . In the latter, Fonda plays the future president as a lawyer defending some nice young men who have killed a bully in self- defense and are now in danger from a lynch mob. Lincoln wins their freedom and we are instructed in respect for the law. The fi lm illustrates two of Hollywood’s favorite political themes, condemning lynch mobs and providing a hero to show the people the way. Young Mr. Lincoln is reverential toward its subject, relying on our knowledge of what he would become to give the movie its portentous tone. By contrast, John Cromwell’s Abe Lincoln in Illinois (1940) presented a complex and sometimes stormy portrait of the great man’s personal life that was almost embarrassing, given the respectful treatment Hollywood’s favorite president got in other fi lms.

Ford and Fonda had a greater success in 1940, however, with The Grapes of Wrath , an adaptation of John Steinbeck’s moving novel about dust bowl migrants in the Depression and a good example of fi lmmaking as a collaborative art. The project was initiated by its producer, Darryl F. Zanuck, who acquired the rights to the book and assigned Ford to direct it. Zanuck was also deeply involved in shaping the script, which muted Steinbeck’s radical and pessimistic social criticism. Part of a new generation of producers who pursued profi t in a more calculated way than their hit- or- miss predecessors, Zanuck hoped to avoid offending the Production Code Administration or HUAC while pandering to the traditional values of audiences; Ford was the perfect director.

John Ford began working in fi lms in 1914. He played a Klansman in The Birth of a Nation and started directing by 1917. Eventually he became one of Hollywood’s most pro-lifi c craftsmen, with 200 fi lms to his credit at the time of his death in 1973. His style was distinctive enough to earn him the title of auteur, one who leaves a personal imprint on a fi lm even while working within the confi nes of the studio system. Visual style is the most obvious signature of the auteur, but philosophical themes also emerge, like Capra’s corny populism. In Ford’s fi lms, a conservative faith in the common man and nostalgia for a simpler, agrarian past are apparent.

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In their work on The Grapes of Wrath , three other superb fi lm artists aided Zanuck and Ford. Nunnally Johnson wrote the tight script, and Alfred Newman composed a score based on a folksy version of “Red River Valley,” which suited Ford’s sentimental style perfectly. Cinematographer Gregg Toland, best known for his work on Citizen Kane (1941), made an even greater contribution, using his photography to communicate what could not be made clear through dialogue. Long shots of the horizon give a sense of space and the dreariness of the dust bowl. At times Toland’s mobile camera pans to make visual connections and at other times it puts the viewer right in the action. The fi lm as a whole retains a documentary quality that is radically different from the style of other fi lms but perfectly suited to The Grapes of Wrath .

The movie starts with a long shot of the plains, followed by a shot of a lone man, Tom Joad (Henry Fonda). He is coming home from prison just as his family prepares to give up their farm and migrate to California. Tenant farmers, they are being driven off their land, a process described by a neighbor in a touching fl ashback in which the landowner’s agent denies responsibility for the eviction by blaming “orders from the East.” “Then who do we shoot?” the neighbor’s son demands. The fi lm avoids fi xing the blame, an example of its muted politics, but also a realistic point, since a whole system rather than any individual produces the eviction.

The family’s despair is turned to hope by a fl yer announcing “plenty of work in Califor-nia: 800 pickers wanted.” The Joads pack up and take off in their old jalopy. They face hard times on the road. Elders die, the family runs out of food and money, and they are harassed by state border patrols. Ma Joad (Jane Darwell in an Oscar- winning performance) struggles to keep the family “whole and clear,” but she is working against the odds. The Joads are aided, however, by waitresses, truckers, and other migrants, working folk who have learned to stick together.

Two key moments come as the family arrives in transient camps. Both scenes unfold through a subjective camera, so we see the camps as the Joads see them from their rickety old car. Starving children stare at them from grim huts as they enter the fi rst camp, a hellish place run by growers. They soon learn that California is not the paradise they had hoped for. There are too few jobs for the thousands of people who have been lured there by growers’ propaganda intended to ensure a surplus of cheap labor. Despondent, the Joads move on, eventually arriving at a second camp that turns out to be an oasis. As they enter, the camera zooms in on the sign above the gate: “Department of Agriculture.” A benign attendant clad in white welcomes them in a mellow voice, explaining that the camp is a cooperative run by the federal government. The Joads are shocked by their good treatment, the absence of cops, and the idea of residents running the camp. The camp is an obvious symbol of the New Deal, complete with a Roosevelt- like manager.

But the pull of “the people” is too strong for Tom Joad to rest content with this oasis. He has been thinking, and he suspects that unions could help. At the fi rst camp, Tom saw his friend Casey killed by the growers’ thugs for doing union work. Drawn into the scuffl e, Tom inadvertently killed one of the thugs, another reason for his restlessness. Earlier, he had wondered, “What is these reds, anyway?” Now he thinks that “these reds” might not be so bad if they help people. He fi nally leaves the family, apparently to become a union organizer. He reassures Ma Joad that he will always be around, though, because “we’re all part of the one big soul that belongs to everybody.” She gets the fi lm’s closing monologue: “Rich fellas come up and they die, an’ their kids ain’t no good, and they die out, but we keep acomin.’

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We’re the people that live. Can’t wipe us out. Can’t lick us. We’ll go on forever, Pa, ’cause we’re the people.”

The message in The Grapes of Wrath was faith in the family, the land, and the working people, a message of longing for the past and despair for the present. The Joads slowly fi gure out that they are victims of the system, but they do not know what to do about it. Only the federal government, as represented by the clean, happy co- op camp, offers salvation.

Ford’s movie considerably toned down John Steinbeck’s sensational novel. The fi lm replaces Steinbeck’s emphasis on class with the family and “the people.” To conform with the cinematic tradition of happy endings, the fi lm reversed the order of arrival in the camps: the happy camp comes fi rst in the book, second in the fi lm. The ordering of these events in the movie also suggested greater faith in the federal government as the people’s savior and stressed Tom’s situation as a fugitive. Steinbeck made it clear that Tom goes off to become a union organizer, but running from the law seems to be his main motive in the fi lm. The novel’s assertion that unions might be the answer to the migrants’ problems was also weakened in the fi lm. As the book ends, the strike has been broken, Casey has been killed, Tom has been beaten, and in the fi nal scene, one of the young Joad women breast- feeds a starving man. It is a desperate, despairing ending, one Hollywood could not accept, so the fi lm ends in the government camp with Ma Joad’s “we’re the people” speech implying that all will be well. Survival, not change, is the theme.

The issue of migrant workers was hot when the fi lm was made. California growers were shifting over to native white workers like the Joads for cheap labor. Japanese immigra-tion had been halted, and Mexicans were being repatriated. Union activity was growing. The Hearst press denounced The Grapes of Wrath as Communist propaganda, and even before it was completed, the fi lmmakers were under pressure from growers and banks. They were so nervous that they kept their shooting locations a secret and, as we have seen, considerably muted the book’s message. The movie was a box offi ce hit, and it won two Academy Awards.

Notes

1 . Ray McDonald, SUFG Bulletin, Second Term, 1957. 2 . Mark Roth, “Some Warners Musicals and the Spirit of the New Deal,” Velvet Light Trap 17

( Winter 1977): 3. 3 . Quoted in David Eldridge, American Culture in the 1930s (Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh

Press, 2008), p. 62. 4 . Charles Eckert, “Shirley Temple and the House of Rockefeller,” Jump Cut 2 (1974): 1, 17–20,

www.ejumpcut.org/archive/onlinessays/JC02folder/shirleytemple.html. 5 . Andrew Bergman, We’re in the Money (New York: New York University Press, 1971), p. 102. See

also Nick Roddick, A New Deal in Entertainment (London: British Film Institute, 1983). 6 . Robert L. McConnell, “The Genesis and Ideology of Gabriel over the White House ,” in Cinema

Examined , ed. Richard Dyer MacCann and Jack C. Ellis (New York: Dutton, 1982), p. 209. 7 . Photoplay , June 1933. 8 . Bergman, pp. 78–79. 9 . New York Times , March 25, 1934. 10 . Bergman, p. 4. 11 . Frank Capra, The Name Above the Title (New York: Macmillan, 1971), pp. 287, 292.

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The 1940s Hollywood Goes to War

All the King’s Men (1949)

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The 1940s was a turbulent decade for the world, the United States, and Hollywood. When isolationist America was dragged into World War II, Hollywood enthusiastically signed up. Many movies manifested high political intent—rallying the nation to war—but few articulated complex political ideas or confronted social issues. After the war, however, Hollywood made some of its strongest social issue fi lms as well as some powerful movies about the political process, but the regulators of the Production Code Administration (PCA), the breakup of the big studios, and paranoia about Communism soon discouraged the making of such fi lms.

Hollywood and the nation concentrated on domestic politics through the 1930s, but toward the end of the decade, international troubles intruded. The Spanish Civil War caught the imagination of some moviemakers, dividing and politicizing Hollywood from its begin-ning in 1936. The Spanish confl ict was romantic for some, but others saw it as part of the wider rise of fascism. Hollywood debated whether or not to oppose fascism in the movies, but some antifascist fi lms were made and many more movies alluded to the need for national involvement, a position that ran counter to the isolationism that had dominated U.S. public opinion since World War I.

When the United States fi nally entered World War II, Hollywood was enthusiastic. Before Pearl Harbor, Warner Bros. had been the most political and most pro- Roosevelt studio, and the political left had been the chief advocates of intervention. Once war was declared, all the studios and fi lmmakers across the political spectrum rallied around the fl ag, turning out enter-tainment fi lms that supported the cause, making training fi lms, and joining the campaign to sell war bonds. At this point, domestic politics and social issues all but disappeared from American fi lms except as background in such movies as The Glass Key (1942), a murder mystery compli-cated by machine politics. Throughout the war years, fi lmmakers stuck with optimistic stories of heroism, patriotism, and antifascism. Thanks to the rapid production methods of the studio system, these movies were hitting the screens within months of America’s declaration of war.

After the war, Hollywood’s audience reached a high point and then started a long decline. From 1946 to 1948, an average of 90 million people went to the movies every week, but by 1950 weekly attendance had plummeted to 50 million. As it moved from fat times to lean times, from security to insecurity, the fi lm industry experienced great changes. Hollywood and America started the postwar years cheerfully. The United States had won the war and was the most powerful nation in the world. The economy was booming. A baby boom started and the suburbs burgeoned. But the good times were not perfect. Infl ation, labor unrest, and a reces-sion resulting from reduced military spending caused economic jitters for a nation that had not forgotten the Depression. Veterans had problems coming home; women had problems staying home after being pushed out of the workforce when the men returned from the war. Racial ten-sion increased as blacks, more assertive after their wartime experience, moved out of the South and grew impatient for equality. The Soviet Union expanded into Eastern Europe and China went Communist. Then, in 1949, Russia exploded an atom bomb and America began to worry about Soviet spies. Postwar political fi lms refl ected these changes, starting with optimistic crusading, then growing cynical and avoiding political topics.

Internationalism and Antifascism

Hollywood launched the theme of internationalism in the 1930s with a number of pictures focused on Latin America. The studios perceived a vast audience there, but other factors were at work as well. The Rockefeller family had acquired RKO studios and immediately set

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out to promote Latin America, where it had major economic interests. Nelson Rockefeller formed a committee to improve relations with Latin America, persuaded Twentieth Century- Fox to alter scenes that were less than fl attering to Latin America in Carmen Miranda’s debut fi lm, Down Argentine Way (1940), and encouraged Walt Disney to make the pro- Latino Saludos Amigos (1943) and Three Caballeros (1945).

Juarez (1939) was more distinctly political as well as internationalist. Directed by Wil-liam Dieterle, who had cautiously raised the issue of anti- Semitism in The Life of Emile Zola (1937), Juarez centers on the attempt of Napoleon III (Claude Rains) to impose monarchy on Mexico by installing Maximilian (Brian Aherne) and Carlotta (Bette Davis) as its rulers. Juarez (Paul Muni) and Porfi rio Diaz (improbably played by John Garfi eld) lead the resis-tance, countering the hubris and decadence of the Europeans with native democracy. They win, but the fi lm gives them the Lincoln treatment, presenting them with such deference they seem stiff and boring. Audience sympathy and interest shift to Maximilian and Carlotta, who agonize as the people they wish to help reject their good intentions. Napoleon III, with his imperial ambitions, is the villain, while the savior is the United States. French intervention is bad, but ours is good because we support Juarez and “the people”—and because Abraham Lincoln is invoked, even though he was dead by the time the United States took action in Mexico. Despite its transparent politics, Juarez was a critical and box offi ce success. The New York Times declared it “a stirring restatement of faith in the democratic process . . . ideologically fl awless . . . socially valuable.” 1 HUAC congressman Martin Dies, however, denounced Juarez as propaganda.

Another group of fi lms, from The Charge of the Light Brigade (1936) to The Sea Hawk (1940), That Hamilton Woman (1941), and ultimately Mrs. Miniver (1942), were directly or indirectly internationalist and unabashedly pro- British, refl ecting Hollywood’s substantial British contingent.

While these fi lms emphasized internationalism, others were explicitly antifascist. One of the fi rst antifascist movies was Blockade (1938), a tale of espionage in Civil War Spain, pro-duced by Walter Wanger, directed by William Dieterle ( Juarez ), and written by John Howard Lawson, a Communist, union activist, and later one of the Hollywood Ten (see Chapter 3 ). Set in Spain in 1936, Blockade follows the adventures of Marco (Henry Fonda), a peasant who rallies his neighbors to resist an invading force referred to only as “the enemy.” He is soon assigned to root out saboteurs who are preventing food from getting past the enemy blockade to the starving people. Blockade never specifi es which side is which, although its populist orientation and the military might and brutality of “the enemy” are obvious clues. The movie’s main point is a warning to America: “As I sit here,” a journalist writes, “I see nightmare visions of air raids sweeping over great cities.” But despite its apparent good intentions, the movie’s sympathy for Republican Spain drew criticism and the public ignored it.

Confessions of a Nazi Spy (1939), also from Warner Bros., features Edward G. Robinson as an FBI agent who infi ltrates the Nazi underground. Unabashedly antifascist, the fi lm is said to have been inspired by the studio’s fury when its representative in Germany, a Jew, was beaten to death. Confessions was a popular and critical failure, although some reviewers praised the fi lmmakers for their daring. They had faced hostility while they were making this movie, and they came in for even greater hostility, especially among German- Americans, when it was released. Nazi sympathizers burned down the theater where it was shown in Milwaukee.

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The most overtly anti- Nazi fi lm of this era was Charlie Chaplin’s still- popular The Great Dictator (1940). His earlier fi lms consistently championed the struggle of the little guy against repression by bullies or institutions, but this movie is more specifi cally political. It is a gentle comedy in which Chaplin plays a Jewish barber and his look- alike, the dictator of Tomania, Adenoid Hynkel, known as “the Phooey.” Hynkel is a burlesque character, but his political motives—including lust for power, hatred of Jews, and competition with his neighbors—are clear. The fi lm ends with the little barber taking the Phooey’s place at a big rally and addressing a resoundingly anti- isolationist, antifascist speech directly to the movie audience. The war in Europe was well under way when The Great Dictator was released, but the movie was controversial nonetheless. Efforts had been made to stop its production, and there was hostility to its message. Audiences loved it, however, and made it a box offi ce hit in both 1940 and 1941. Franklin Roosevelt liked The Great Dictator so much that Chaplin was asked to reprise the little barber’s big speech at the president’s birthday celebration.

As unexceptionable as this and other antifascist fi lms now appear, they were controver-sial in a prewar America still committed to isolationism. Of course, German- Americans and Nazi sympathizers objected to them. HUAC congressman Dies charged that all these fi lms were propaganda, attacked Chaplin for his left- wing sympathies, and even alleged that Shirley Temple was a Communist dupe. The Senate set up a subcommittee in 1941 to inves-tigate “any propaganda disseminated by motion pictures . . . to infl uence public sentiment in the direction of participation by the United States in the European war.” 2

There is even some question whether Hollywood studios, far from sounding the alarm against fascism and the rise of Nazism, were reluctant to take on any subject or story that might alienate foreign audiences, including and especially anti- Semitism. In his controver-sial study The Collaboration: Hollywood’s Pact with Hitler (2013), Harvard fellow Ben Urwand argues Hollywood did just that—“collaborated” with Hitler in hopes of maintaining a German audience for its product. Beginning with Nazi- led protests against All Quiet on the Western Front and subsequent censoring of scenes particularly offensive to Germans, Urwand charts a shocking history of studios caving to Nazi requests, suggestions, and threats. In archival records of correspondence, studio executives and Nazis both use the term “collaborate” to refer to the industry responses to Nazi vetting of Hollywood projects. 3

Other fi lm scholars and descendants of studio bosses tarred by Urwand’s book accuse The Collaboration of sensationalism, overstatement, and an ahistorical perspective. The author of a competing study called Hollywood and Hitler, 1933–39 , Thomas Doherty summarized in an essay in The Hollywood Reporter his objections to Urwand’s research and conclusions. Calling Urwand’s work “slanderous” and “ahistorical,” Doherty points out that Hollywood fi lms at the time enjoyed no First Amendment rights and that it should come as no surprise that studios negotiated with Germany to leverage their fi lms into a lucrative marketplace. He also reminds readers,

No Popular Front group in the 1930s did more to alert Americans to the looming threat from Nazism than the Hollywood Anti- Nazi League for the Defense of Democracy (HANL). Founded in 1936 and numbering some 5,000 artists- activists from all ranks of the motion picture industry, HANL worked tirelessly to raise awareness about the menace of Nazism . . . doing its best to inject anti- Nazi sentiments into Hollywood cinema (no easy task given the obstacles set up by the internal and external censors who always sought to denude American cinema of overt political content). 4

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Many German Jewish émigrés in Hollywood also contributed to refugee funds like the European Film Fund founded by the agent Paul Kohner and the émigré director Ernst Lubitsch. Universal founder and producer Carl Laemmle donated heavily to such charities and personally signed hundreds of affi davits to help secure the immigration of Jewish refu-gees, in Doherty’s estimation, thereby “saving more Jews from certain death than the U.S. State Department.” In Doherty’s view, the story of Hollywood and Hitler is one not of col-laboration but of “resistance.” 5

Citizen Welles

Often proclaimed the best fi lm of all time, Citizen Kane (1941) was not primarily antifascist or, some would say, even political. But while the political content of Citizen Kane may have been low, its political intent was surely high. Orson Welles, the twenty- fi ve- year- old auteur of Citizen Kane , was its star, director, and coauthor. Basing his fi lm on the life of newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst, Welles tells us that power corrupts and money cannot buy happiness. This is an old Hollywood message, but it was not so much the message that made Citizen Kane great as the way that message was conveyed.

Kane’s life is told in a series of fl ashbacks by a variety of witnesses, all fi lmed using dramatic composition and extreme camera angles to emphasize power and impotence, an expressionistic style brilliantly executed by cinematographer Gregg Toland ( The Grapes of Wrath ). The witnesses tell their tales to an unseen newspaper reporter who seeks to unravel the character of the late Charles Foster Kane by learning the meaning of his dying word, “Rosebud.” But even though Citizen Kane is primarily a study of the private life of a pub-lic fi gure, it is political in its obsession with power and in its depiction of Kane’s election campaign.

Although the young Charles Foster Kane begins his media career frivolously, because he thinks “it would be fun to run a newspaper,” he is idealistic when he writes the “declara-tion of principles” for his fi rst issue: “(1) I will provide the people of this city with a daily newspaper that will tell them all the news honestly, and (2) I will also provide them with a fi ghting and tireless champion of their rights as citizens and human beings.” He stands in the dark, however, as he reads his declaration, a portent of things to come.

“If I don’t look after the interests of the underprivileged,” the young crusader declares, “maybe somebody else will, maybe somebody without money or property.” His politics are liberal but elitist, a sort of noblesse oblige. In fact, he holds the people in contempt and manipulates public opinion with increasing cynicism. He stirs up a crisis in Cuba to boost newspaper sales. When his correspondent wires that there is no war, Kane responds, “You provide the prose poems, I’ll provide the war!” Before long, he is openly announcing that “the people will think . . . what I tell them to think!” Kane’s friend, Jed Leland (Joseph Cot-ten), sums up the publisher’s shallow, elitist liberalism when he observes that the American worker is “turning to something called organized labor, and you’re not going to like that one bit when you fi nd out that it means he thinks he’s entitled to something as his right and not your gift.”

Kane runs for governor on a sort of populist- progressive platform, attacking “the machine,” which is represented by Boss Jim Geddes (Ray Collins). The campaign culminates in a big rally. A massive portrait of Kane hangs over a crowded auditorium—a scene modeled after the fascist rallies of the time. The crowd is a painted backdrop, dots rather than faces. The

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looming visage of Kane and the blurred crowd are an apt comment on Kane’s politics and the politics of personality as well. But the dark fi gure of Boss Jim Geddes gazes down on the rally from the back of the auditorium. Just as Kane is within reach of victory, Geddes demands that he drop out of the race. If he refuses, Geddes will tell the press that Kane has been keeping a mistress, a revelation that would cost him both the election and his family. Kane stubbornly refuses to quit. The story of his “love nest” is published and Kane loses both his wife and the election. Welles concludes this segment of Kane with his most succinct and cynical comment on politics and the media as Kane’s newspaper prepares alternative headlines for the day after the election: “Kane Elected” and “Fraud at Polls.” Kane retreats to exercise his formidable power in private life, much as Hearst did, pushing the career of his mistress and building his palace, Xanadu, which closely resembles Hearst’s famous estate, San Simeon. His politics, referred to only indirectly in the latter part of the fi lm, move to the right and are ultimately discredited when he poses with Hitler in Germany and returns to the United States to announce that there will be no war.

These scenes hint at antifascism, but Citizen Kane is more clearly an antielitist, antiau-thoritarian reiteration of the axiom that power corrupts. Kane is more cynical than earlier fi lms because it offers no salvation. The good characters in the movie cannot stand up to Kane, the reporters cannot fi gure him out, and the people continue to buy his newspapers without protest, rejecting him politically for the wrong reasons—because of his mistress, not his egotistical elit-ism. Other American movies had dealt with political corruption, from the nearly contemporary Mr. Smith back to The Birth of a Nation and beyond. But Kane was different because Welles refused to offer simple solutions. Another distinction is Kane ’s focus on the corrupt man him-self. Instead of a Jefferson Smith or Tom Joad, we get Charles Foster Kane, a nasty man whom we do not like but for whom we feel some sympathy because of his lost childhood and his youthful exuberance and good intentions. Although “Rosebud” provides a simplistic expla-nation of Kane’s character, the fi lm’s closing shot focuses on a No Trespassing sign outside Kane’s lavish estate, suggesting that we cannot really know what makes people tick anyway.

Citizen Kane was not a great box offi ce success, despite positive, if qualifi ed, reviews. Writing for McCall’s , Pare Lorentz praised the technique, but felt that Welles’s acting was not strong enough to carry a fi lm about so unsympathetic a character. 6 Other critics called Kane “a magnifi cent sleigh- ride” and “a curious adventure in narration.” 7 The New York Times acclaimed the fi lm, saying it was “as realistic as a slap in the face” but expressing reservations about the “undefi ned character” of the “eminent publisher.” 8

Despite its criticism of the press, Citizen Kane was applauded at its New York City press showing, but the Hearst newspapers assaulted the fi lm vigorously. They had begun doing so while it was being made, with Hearst gossip columnist Louella Parsons campaigning to get RKO to “junk the project.” 9 Once it was released, the attacks escalated, focusing especially on the fi lm’s cowriter, Herman Mankiewicz, who had been friendly with Hearst and his movie- star mistress, Marion Davies. Even before the fi lm was released, the PCA objected to scenes in a brothel, resulting in the deletion of a character called Madam Georgie and the toning down of a scene with dancing girls so they are not so obviously whores. Louis B. Mayer and others tried unsuccessfully to buy up all the negatives of the fi lm, and theater chains, includ-ing Warner Bros., refused to screen it until RKO, Welles’s studio, threatened legal action.

Citizen Kane had made a stylistic and political splash. Besides its gleeful attack on one of America’s most powerful men, Kane almost offhandedly condemned Hitler and ridiculed the foolishness of people like Kane who thought that war could be avoided. This was perhaps

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a cheap shot by 1941, but still made for controversy. Beyond that, Citizen Kane marked an advance for political fi lms because of the complexity of Kane’s character and because of its broad, if pessimistic, attack on power and capitalism.

From Casablanca to the Rhine

Among the fi rst American fi lms to address the growing concern with the international situa-tion was Casablanca (1942), a Warner Bros. movie directed by Michael Curtiz and written by Howard Koch, a team that had already expressed itself on isolationism and preparedness in The Sea Hawk (1940). Casablanca made a more urgent case for involvement, though, with the cynical American expatriate Rick (Humphrey Bogart) reluctantly joining the Free French and giving up Ilsa (Ingrid Bergman), his true love, to another freedom fi ghter (Paul Henreid). “If it’s December 1941 in Casablanca, what time is it in New York?” Rick asks. “I bet they’re asleep in New York. I bet they’re asleep all over America.” Waking up was clearly the right thing to do, in case anybody still doubted it in 1942. Gracefully presented in a seductively romantic story laced with humor and adventure, Casablanca ’s political mes-sage went down well, and the movie was a box offi ce and critical hit, winning Oscars for best picture, director, and script.

Encouraged by the success of Casablanca and the active urging of President Roosevelt, Warner Bros. churned out war movies for the next couple of years. James Cagney took the lead in the patriotic but otherwise relatively apolitical Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942), also directed by Michael Curtiz. Bogart was back in All Through the Night (1942), fi ght-ing saboteurs and spies on the home front. Errol Flynn joined the war effort in a string of straightforward adventure stories: Desperate Journey (1942), Northern Pursuit (1943), Edge of Darkness (1943), and Objective Burma (1944). In 1943, Action in the North Atlantic , Air Force , and Destination Tokyo came from Warner Bros. at the request of President Roosevelt. These fi lms were straightforward, inspirational calls for support of the war effort. Some of them condoned collective action and egalitarianism, but these normally left- wing themes had suddenly become widely acceptable because of the war. In the early 1940s, oppression and military necessity justifi ed both collectivism (we had to stick together) and egalitarian-ism (we needed everybody, regardless of class or race). Anyway, there was usually a WASP leader to guide the cross section of society that made up the little bands of warriors.

Although Warner Bros. took the lead, other studios joined the cause. At United Artists, Ernst Lubitsch directed and produced To Be or Not to Be (1942), a black comedy about a troupe of actors caught up in anti- Nazi espionage. Paramount produced For Whom the Bell Tolls (1943), based on Hemingway’s novel about the Spanish Civil War, although even in 1943 the studio shied away from politics and emphasized the love story. Less shy were three propagandistic anti- Nazi movies: RKO’s Hitler’s Children (1943), Paramount’s The Hitler Gang (1944), and MGM’s Hitler’s Madman (1943). MGM also produced Mrs. Mini-ver (1942) and Thirty Seconds over Tokyo (1944). Only a few of these fi lms, including these two MGM productions and Casablanca , were hits with audiences and critics.

One of the most memorable was Watch on the Rhine (1943), a Warner Bros. production adapted by Dashiell Hammett from the play by Lillian Hellman. Kurt Muller, a German freedom fi ghter superbly played by Paul Lukas, takes his wife, Sarah (Bette Davis), and their children home to her family in prewar America. “I am an antifascist,” he explains to his in- laws when they ask about his profession and his failure to settle down in one place. But

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even in America, the Mullers are not safe. A Romanian houseguest learns that Kurt plans to return to Germany with money for the resistance. The Romanian threatens to betray Kurt to his Nazi friends at the German embassy. When Sarah’s family learns of the Romanian’s plot, they try to buy him off. “The new world has left the room,” the Romanian says when he fi nds himself alone with Kurt and Sarah. “[They] are Americans,” Kurt responds. “They do not understand our world, and if they are fortunate, they never will.” But the Americans aid the freedom fi ghter. “We’ve been shaken out of the magnolias,” the matriarch declares.

Meanwhile, Ginger Rogers and her housemates, a cross section of American woman-hood, await the return of their men in Tender Comrade (1943). Edward Dmytryk and Dalton Trumbo, both later members of the Hollywood Ten, directed and wrote this story of a group of war wives who work in an aircraft factory and live together in a co- op. The fi lm focuses on their home life, complete with refugee German housekeeper, and teaches lessons about the need for sacrifi ce, the dangers of hoarding, the reasons for rationing, the importance of keeping mum about troop movements, and the tragedy of the “murder” of German democ-racy. Ginger Rogers says, “Share and share alike, that’s the meaning of democracy”—a line that would later be offered as testimony of “Communist content”—as the women solve individual problems while working together toward a common goal.

And On to Moscow

As the war went on, a few movies crossed the line into more overt propaganda. President Roosevelt urged them on, pressing fi rst for fi lms about the Asian front, then for movies about the European Allies, especially Russia. Mission to Moscow (1943) was made, Jack Warner said, at the specifi c request of Roosevelt, who wanted to “fl atter” Stalin and “keep [him] fi ghting” as well as to educate the American public. 10 Directed by Michael Curtiz and written by Howard Koch, the team that had made Casablanca , the pro- Russian movie was as bad as their earlier fi lm was good.

Mission to Moscow starred Walter Huston as Joseph E. Davies, the real- life American ambassador to the Soviet Union from 1936 to 1941. Davies himself introduces the movie with praise for the Warner brothers, “those great American patriots.” Then we see Huston as Davies, happily fi shing before President Roosevelt calls him out of retirement to take on an urgent assignment. On his way to Moscow, Davies passes through Germany and is appalled at the regimentation and authoritarianism holding sway there. He watches grimly as Jews wearing identifi cation tags are marched by. The cruel totalitarianism of the enemy is thrown into sharp relief when the ambassador reaches the Russian border, where cheerful soldiers and happy women engineers welcome their American friends with food and laughter. The fi lm goes on to present a portrait of Russia that is strictly party- line propaganda. The purges of the 1930s are presented as unimportant exercises carried out only for purposes of internal security. The Hitler–Stalin nonaggression pact of 1939 is blamed on American isolationism and European appeasement. Russia’s occupation of Finland is explained away as a strategic necessity for which the Soviets had asked—and received—Finland’s permission.

Bogged down with narration and stagy explanations of American policy and Soviet poli-tics, Mission to Moscow is high in political content and intent but it is a pretty bad movie. The fi lm industry press nevertheless gave it grovelingly good reviews and pointed out the signifi -cance of movies “fl exing their muscles in human crisis.” 11 The New York Times proclaimed it “the most important picture on a political subject any American studio has ever made,” but

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criticized its glowing portrait of the USSR and its sloppy history. 12 Others were less kind, calling it a “mishmash” and “a lot of rot” and denouncing its “cuddly, reverential treatment” of Franklin Roosevelt. 13 The Hearst press and Republican presidential candidate Thomas E. Dewey condemned its pro- Communism while liberals objected to its Stalinist portrait of Trotsky. 14 Audiences avoided the movie. Hollywood’s most serious attempt at sending a message—approved and encouraged by the president of the United States—bombed.

Other World War II message movies did not do much better. The North Star (1943), directed by Lewis Milestone and written by Lillian Hellman, is set in a happy and charming Russian village (populated by Dana Andrews, Walter Huston, and Walter Brennan) that is overwhelmed by Nazis (led by Erich von Stroheim). Producer Samuel Goldwyn said it was about “people who think and act as do Americans,” 15 and the clear intent was to make the American people more enthusiastic about their Soviet allies. MGM and RKO responded to Roosevelt’s urgings with Song of Russia (1943) and Days of Glory (1944), both hyping our Russian allies. Like Mission to Moscow and The North Star , both movies fl opped, probably not so much because of what they said as because they were bad movies. When American fi lmmakers tried hardest to make political points, they failed most dismally, perhaps because they were trying too hard to please Washington and not hard enough to please their audiences.

Winding Down the War

As the fi ghting on the European front drew to a close, Hollywood shifted its attention to the war in the Pacifi c. In The Fighting Seabees (1944) and Edward Dmytryk’s Back to Bataan (1945), both starring John Wayne, the racist portrayal of the enemy was even more extreme than the depiction of the villainous Nazis of the antifascist fi lms.

The seminal World War II combat fi lm Bataan (1943) features a group of American and Philippine soldiers ordered to blow up a bridge to delay the advancing Japanese army as the United States retreats from Manila to Bataan. None of the soldiers survive the mission, stoking the fi lm’s propaganda fi re.

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But by 1944 Hollywood was also looking forward to peacetime with fi lms like Hail the Conquering Hero . Preston Sturges wrote and directed this comedy about a hero’s son (Eddie Bracken) who is discharged from the marines because he has hay fever. Unable to face the folks back home, he sets out to drown his sorrows, but he is saved by a group of sympathetic marines who decorate him with borrowed medals and send him home. Welcomed as a hero, he is drafted as a candidate for mayor. He confesses, but the townspeople are so unaccus-tomed to hearing the truth from politicians that they continue to believe he is a hero and elect him anyway.

Like Sturges’s earlier fi lms, this one was cynical (albeit funny) about politics. Sturges’s The Great McGinty (1940) had been about a bum who gained favor with a political boss but ruined his career when true love turned him honest. In Sullivan’s Travels (1941), Sturges made fun of Hollywood’s social concerns. In Hail the Conquering Hero , the innocent tri-umphs for no apparent reason except that he is good, in contrast to the incumbent mayor, who is inept, pretentious, and hypocritical. The well- meaning man who usually runs against the mayor denounces his own dullness and steps aside in favor of the young hero. Room must be made for the returning warriors, the movie tells us. More disturbingly, it also informs us that politics is like love: “You don’t need reason.” The sophisticated Sturges may have been working with his tongue in his cheek, but audiences loved his fi lm nonetheless.

Wilson (1944) was a loftier, if more ponderous, contemplation of the aftermath of world war. The big biopic of the year was produced for Twentieth Century- Fox by Darryl Zanuck, written by Lamar Trotti, and directed by Henry King. Zanuck, who was determined to make an epic, spent $5 million (a great deal of money in 1944) and employed a cast of 13,000, headed by Alexander Knox as President Woodrow Wilson. “Sometimes the life of a man mirrors the life of a nation,” the fi lm’s prologue announces, but Wilson was not so much about the man as about the peace ending World War I and the need for international coop-eration. Zanuck’s epic argued that the League of Nations and collective security could have prevented World War II.

Wilson deserves credit for taking politics seriously, but while the movie’s intentions were good, it was long and dull. Personalities, issues, and political processes were radically oversimplifi ed, and Wilson himself got the Lincoln treatment: he is wise and good while Europeans are greedy and vindictive and the Americans who oppose the League of Nations are fools. The movie was successful despite its lecturing, winning both audience and critical favor. The New York Times called the fi lm’s politics “authentic,” singling out the exciting scenes at the party convention where Wilson fi rst wins the presidential nomination, although the reviewer conceded that the movie was chauvinistic in its exclusively American view-point and gave no credit to European leaders or perspectives. 16

Not everyone agreed with this assessment, however. Wilson caused almost as much of a furor in 1944 as Mission to Moscow had the year before. Republicans and isolationists denounced it as propaganda for Roosevelt’s 1944 reelection campaign. Darryl Zanuck, its producer, denied the charge, pointing out that he was himself a Republican. The fi lm, he said, was his “personal crusade for world peace.” 17 Although a million people went to see Wilson within fi ve weeks of its release and it earned more than $3 million in two years, the fi lm did not recoup its $5 million cost. The loss, combined with the controversy, may have discour-aged Twentieth Century- Fox from making other movies with similar themes.

With few exceptions, the propagandistic wartime movies were fl ops, and even the excep-tions were controversial. As a consequence, Hollywood grew increasingly cautious about

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sending political messages, for even when quality and profi ts were highest, the movies came under attack from politicians who did not share the fi lmmakers’ point of view. Both the House of Representatives and the Senate accused Hollywood of encouraging war, promoting Roosevelt, or leaning to the left (never the right). The Production Code Administration also kept the pressure on, although a few fi lmmakers challenged its rules. As early as 1943, How-ard Hughes let immoral people have a happy ending in The Outlaw , starring Jane Russell.

The close scrutiny of the censors and the intense attacks of the politicians indicated how infl uential they thought the movies were. And if the tremendous size of the audience was a measure of the infl uence of fi lms, they were right. But even as their audience was at its larg-est, fi lmmakers retreated from political topics. This retreat may have refl ected the mood of the country after long years of depression and war. The sheer size of audiences may have led fi lmmakers to seek maximum profi ts by avoiding controversial topics. Most likely, produc-ers and studios refused to support political projects because of their wartime disasters and their nervousness about interference from Washington.

Socially Refl ective Movies versus Social Problem Movies in the Postwar Era

The increasing cautiousness of fi lmmakers refl ected the mood of the nation, as the optimism that immediately followed the war mixed with fear of the future precipitated by the Cold War abroad and diffi culties in adjusting to peacetime at home. The musicals of the late 1940s expressed the optimistic viewpoint while the style that came to be known as fi lm noir (black fi lm) expressed the fear.

From Meet Me in St. Louis (1944) through Easter Parade (1948) and On the Town (1949), Hollywood sang and danced its way through the postwar era, led by Judy Garland, Gene Kelly, and Fred Astaire. MGM virtually specialized in the genre. Less political than the musicals of the early 1930s, these movies presented an almost perfect world in which prob-lems could be solved simply by making an effort.

Film noir was just the reverse, as dark in its mood as in its lighting. In movies like The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (1946), The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946), and The Lady from Shanghai (1948), dangerous women (Barbara Stanwyck, Lana Turner, Rita Hayworth) lured weak men (Van Hefl in, John Garfi eld, Orson Welles) to their fate, often aided and abet-ted by charming villains. Although not overtly political, these movies refl ected the postwar sense of social breakdown and dislocation and commented on class structure through their use of rich villains and poor victims. There was nothing reformist about these fi lms, how-ever. They portrayed a big, bad world where sinners—especially grasping women—were punished. Among these motion pictures, only Abraham Polonsky’s Force of Evil (1948) stands out as a forthright condemnation of the corrupting qualities of capitalism.

Another little group of postwar movies combined the optimism and pessimism of the times in their treatment of social issues. Their look and point of view often resembled fi lm noir, but their resolution was almost always optimistic as good people overcame adversity through love, understanding, or individual effort. One of the fi rst and most important of these social problem fi lms was The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), a melodrama about three soldiers adjusting to civilian life in varying states of distress: one returns an alcoholic (Al Stephenson played by Frederic March), one has two metallic prosthetic arms (Homer Parrish played by real- life war amputee Harold Russell), and the other suffers post- traumatic stress and night terrors from fl ying bombing raids over Germany (Fred Derry played by

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Dana Andrews). This moving fi lm criticized the treatment of returning veterans by callous civilians bent on business as usual, but it offered no solution other than the assurance that the love of a good woman and the passage of time would heal all wounds.

In fact, The Best Years of Our Lives posits that women are essential to overcoming the trauma of war as each tormented veteran experiences in an extended scene his wife or love interest soothing him and putting him to bed like a child. The fi lm’s happy ending depends on all three men fi nding the fulfi llment of romantic promise in marriage, the single social institution upheld by fi lm’s end. Myrna Loy’s Milly stands by Al through his drunken dis-plays; Cathy O’Donnell’s Wilma convinces childhood sweetheart Homer that she still wants to marry him, prosthetics and all; Teresa Wright’s Peggy, daughter of Milly and Al, falls for Fred while his own wife deserts him and his troubles. The fl ipside to this happy ending is the lack of reassurance that the veterans will fi nd support and acceptance by any other social or government institution. At the same time, their entwined stories resonate with pre war nostalgia. The fi lm’s message is that America’s “best years” occur when women tend to their men in the domestic space and private realm of the family home, not when they occupy the workforce or other dimensions of the public sphere they inhabited during the war years.

Pride of the Marines (1945) and Till the End of Time (1946) tackled the same subject, but The Best Years of Our Lives , produced by Samuel Goldwyn, was the most successful of these fi lms, becoming the top box offi ce attraction of 1947, winning the approbation of the critics, and sweeping the Academy Awards.

Director Edward Dmytryk combined the problems of veterans with racial bigotry in Crossfi re (1947), the story of a demented ex- soldier who murders a Jew. Anti- Semitism was also the theme of Elia Kazan’s Gentleman’s Agreement (1947), in which Gregory Peck plays a writer who pretends to be Jewish for eight weeks. He confronts crass prejudice in

In the classic fi lm noir The Lady from Shanghai (1947), Rita Hayworth plays wealthy femme fatale Mrs. Bannister luring weak, working- class Michael O’Hara (Orson Welles) into her deadly web.

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hotels and eventually condemns even those who claim to disapprove of anti- Semitism but who say nothing and thereby condone it. In Pinky (1949), Kazan dealt with the problems of a young black woman trying to pass as white. Prejudice against blacks was also the subject of Home of the Brave (1949), which dealt with the discrimination suffered by a black GI, and Intruder in the Dust (1949), which reiterated the antilynching theme of the 1930s but faced up to the fact that most of the victims were black.

Most of these movies seem transparently naive and didactic today. They rarely got beneath the surface of the problems they tackled, and their solutions were invariably based on the assumption that we are all alike anyway. Veterans, Jews, African- Americans, Native Americans, Latinos, and juvenile delinquents were all portrayed as human beings in need of understanding. Prejudice was bad, according to these fi lms, but the solution was simple because the problem went no deeper than ignorance. Racism was not institutional but per-sonal; delinquency was not social but individual. These movies seem mild now, but they were testing the limits then, and at least one study found that fi lms like Crossfi re , Gen-tleman’s Agreement , and Pinky had a slightly positive effect on viewers’ tolerance of the minority groups that were their subjects. The oversimplifi cation of these problem fi lms is put into historical context by Leonard Quart and Albert Auster, who argue that they are “yet another sign of the overwhelming optimism of the era; an optimism which refused to see any problem as insoluble.” 18

These fi lms were taken seriously in their time, however, and some of them were big hits. The Best Years of Our Lives , Crossfi re , Gentleman’s Agreement , and Pinky all did well with the public and the critics and won Academy Award nominations. Both Best Years and Gen-tleman’s Agreement won the Oscar as Best Picture. But these movies were also controversial. Gentleman’s Agreement , Force of Evil , Home of the Brave , and Pinky were condemned as Communist propaganda because they presented a negative picture of the United States. A Texas theater owner was jailed for screening Pinky. Clearly, the “overwhelming optimism of the era” had its limits.

Political Films Reject Politics

In 1947 President Truman announced “trust- busting” as part of his upcoming re- election campaign, and the Justice Department and Federal Trade Commission launched anti trust suits against multiple major industries, Hollywood included. The following year the Supreme Court agreed essentially to combine a number of antitrust cases against the studios under U.S. v. Paramount Pictures et al. The result was the momentous 1948 Paramount decree, the court’s ruling in favor of the Justice Department and independent studios and against the vertically integrated big studios, forcing them to divest of their exhibition subsidiaries and banning them from dictating to independent exhibitors what fi lms they could run under arrangements called “block booking.” 19

Before the ruling as these cases were winding their way through the courts, Hollywood tended to steer clear of politics and limit its messages to tolerance and understanding. Film-makers rarely exercised their power to fi ght back. It must have seemed easier just to keep quiet for a while and wait for the politicians to go away. Hollywood therefore avoided politi-cal fi lms, except for a few comedies and stories about bosses or martyrs, all fairly safe bets. Some, like The Senator Was Indiscreet (1947), were throwbacks to the 1930s. William Powell plays a senator who seeks his party’s presidential nomination but loses out when

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he misplaces his little black book, which is full of dark secrets about the party—a standard portrait of dirty politics.

Billy Wilder directed and cowrote a timelier and sophisticated political fi lm in A Foreign Affair (1948). In this acute satire, Jean Arthur is a member of a congressional delegation investigating the morale of American troops in postwar Berlin. She gets involved with an army captain (John Lund) whose German mistress (Marlene Dietrich) provides a sharp con-trast between American naiveté and European world- weariness.

Meanwhile, Frank Capra was pushing the movie view of domestic politics into the post-war era with his prescient State of the Union (1948). Like his earlier fi lm, It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), this movie lacked the frothy Capracorn that had marked his work during the 1930s. The postwar world seemed more dangerous to Capra, and his solutions were neither simple nor happy.

In State of the Union , Grant Matthews (Spencer Tracy) is a rich airplane manufacturer and all- round good guy who is drawn into politics by his mistress, Kay Thorndyke (Angela Lansbury), a powerful Republican publishing heiress with a lust for power. Matthews, a populist and an idealist, is eager to bring his good works to government. When he becomes a candidate for president, Matthews needs his estranged wife (Katharine Hepburn) by his side, and she voluntarily complies. Not a normal politician, Matthews says just what he thinks, but this only increases his popularity. He advocates world government and condemns interest groups for caring only about themselves and not the greater good. Thorndyke, his publisher- mentor, puts him under the guidance of a cynical, corrupt political hack (Adolphe Menjou), who introduces Matthews to some harsh political realities: “The only difference between Democrats and Republicans is that they’re in and we’re out.” When the candidate is impressed by public admiration, the hack is incredulous. “Those letters are just from people ,” he sneers, “not state chairmen!” He soon has his candidate stumping for support from labor, farmers, business, ethnics, southerners, and professional politicians. Pushed by the publisher and the hack, Matthews begins to want the nomination enough to make any deal to get it.

He is kept loyal to his own principles by his wife and her ally, a wisecracking, good- hearted journalist (Van Johnson). These two, but especially Hepburn as the wife, function as Capra’s voice in State of the Union , encouraging the candidate to say what he thinks and put his faith in “the common man.” Capra also makes his points through the voices of waiters and maids who express faith in Matthews. But the candidate is seduced and ready to sell out until he sees his wife sell out herself by making a televised speech about him that she does not believe. In the end, he recoils with disgust and announces that he will dog the politicians to make them tell the truth, but he will not be a candidate himself. Husband and wife are reunited; publisher and hack move on to their next victim.

State of the Union stirred up almost as much controversy as Capra’s Mr. Smith , partly because, unlike other fi ctional political fi lms up to that time, it named real people and real parties. Some saw it as favoring then- President Truman because it seemed to attack the old, Harding- style Republican machine. Capra may have felt sympathy for Truman as the closest the nation has come to putting one of his idealized common men in the White House, but Truman was hardly free of the taint of machine politics. Neither the controversy nor good reviews earned much of an audience for State of the Union .

This movie deserved better, however, because its treatment of politics was much more sophisticated than that in earlier political fi lms. Capra’s portrait of interest group politics and

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his hint at the future importance of television put the fi lm ahead of its time, but he had also moved away from his earlier faith in the common man and his depictions of good- hearted citizens triumphing over corrupt politicians. Here he presented a political world ruled by a power elite represented by the publisher, the party boss, and a gaggle of character actors who spoke for various vested interests. In the 1930s, Mr. Smith had stood, fought, and won; in the late 1940s, Grant Matthews saves his integrity by walking away. The people support him, but they are not strong enough to defeat the organizational elite. This cynical view of politics was all the more powerful coming from Frank Capra.

The populism familiar from Capra’s earlier fi lms had a darker tone in this one and grew even darker in All the King’s Men (1949), which warned against the public tolerance for corruption and propensity to fascism. Broderick Crawford plays Willie Stark in this fi ctional-ized version of the career of Huey Long, the populist demagogue who dominated Louisiana politics for a generation. Robert Rossen, one of Hollywood’s most progressive fi lmmakers, wrote and directed the movie based on Robert Penn Warren’s novel.

Willie Stark begins as an idealistic man of the people. He runs for offi ce but loses to the corrupt local organization, so he adapts and comes to terms with the machine: “I’d make a deal with the devil if it’ll help me carry out my program.” When he becomes governor, he fulfi lls his promises, building roads and hospitals for the rural folk who elected him. The ends seem to justify the means, and we are on his side, but Willie soon becomes cynical and corrupt, a demagogue who misleads and manipulates his people, misusing and wasting their tax money on useless projects. He crudely compromises the old elite, represented by an affl uent, educated, liberal family, when he takes their daughter (Joanne Dru) as his mis-tress and their son (John Ireland) as his aide. The adoring masses are symbolized by another of Stark’s aides (Mercedes McCambridge), who is blindly in love with him and resolutely loyal. These three are sympathetic characters, but it is apparent that their own weakness has betrayed them. Willie Stark is assassinated in the end, punished for his transgressions, as was Huey Long.

Aside from the Academy Award-winning performances of Broderick Crawford and Mer-cedes McCambridge, Rossen’s preachy fi lm has not held up well over time. Some critics noted its preachiness in 1949, but others admired the fi lm. The New York Times thought it was “raw, racy . . . pictorial journalism,” a “rip- roaring fi lm.” 20 Power corrupts, this movie tells us—not a new theme in American political fi lms, but one that was frequently reiterated after the war. All the King’s Men also warned against putting too much faith in leaders. The fi lm was careful, however, to make it clear that the fault was not only in the leaders but also in the corrupt and decadent society that accepted them. Fascism could arise in America, in other words, if the masses put their faith in the wrong leaders.

In State of the Union , Grant Matthews must walk away from power to retain his integrity, a conclusion that condemned not only power but politics as well—good men could not get involved. In All the King’s Men , Willie Stark takes the other path and is destroyed when he goes too far. Perhaps it is reassuring that such an evil leader is doomed, but the alternatives presented by these two fi lms of the late 1940s represent an alarmingly discouraging view of politics and a shift in the messages of political fi lms. Although earlier movies had criticized the corruption of politics and politicians, they always provided a solution, usually in the form of a heroic leader or “the people.” The movies of the late 1940s and early 1950s were more profoundly cynical. Great leaders like Roosevelt, good programs like the New Deal, even faith in the people, were no longer enough. Postwar optimism had already turned to

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pessimism, even cynicism, especially about politics. This bleak view would dominate politi-cal fi lms for three decades.

Notes

1 . New York Times , April 26, 1939. 2 . Colin Shindler, Hollywood Goes to War (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979), p. 31. 3 . Ben Urwand, The Collaboration: Hollywood’s Pact with Hitler (Cambridge: Harvard Univer-

sity Press, 2013). Excerpted in The Hollywood Reporter, www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/how- hollywood- helped- hitler- 595684.

4 . Thomas Doherty, “Does ‘The Collaboration’ Overstate Hollywood’s Cooperation with Hitler?” The Hollywood Reporter , www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/does- collaboration- overstate- hollywoods- cooperation- 595678.

5 . Ibid. 6 . McCall’s , June 1941. 7 . Monthly Film Herald , April 12, 1941. 8 . New York Times , May 2, 1941. 9 . Charles J. Maland, American Visions (New York: Arno Press, 1977), p. 307. 10 . Rudy Behlmer, ed., Inside Warner Bros., 1935–195I (New York: Viking, 1985), p. 290. 11 . Cited in Shindler, pp. 58–59. 12 . New York Times , April 30, 1944. 13 . Cited in Monthly Film Bulletin , May 5, 1944. 14 . David Culbert, ed., Mission to Moscow (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1975), p. 16. 15 . Ron Harris, The Thousand Eyes Magazine 2, no. 3 (1976): 16. 16 . New York Times , August 2, 1944. 17 . Thomas J. Knock, “History in Lightning: The Forgotten Film, Wilson ,” in Hollywood as Histo-

rian , ed. Peter C. Rollins (Lexington: University of Kentucky, 1983), p. 95. 18 . Leonard Quart and Albert Auster, American Film and Society Since 1945 (New York: Praeger,

1984). 19 . Thomas Schatz, Boom and Bust: American Cinema in the 1940s (Berkeley: University of Califor-

nia Press, 1999), pp. 326–329. 20 . New York Times , November 9, 1949.

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The 1950s Anti- Communism and Conformity

The Last Hurrah (1958)

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The antipolitical fi lms of the late 1940s and early 1950s played to an apolitical nation, a nation that chose a nonpolitician, the moderately conservative former fi ve- star Army general and Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces in Europe during World War II, Dwight Eisenhower, to serve as its president from 1952 to 1960. This was a prosperous time for America, a time for big cars, television sets, suburban houses, and large families. Joan Mellen, author of Big Bad Wolves , suggests that the fi lms of the 1950s refl ected this prosper-ity in their “glorifi cation and reinforcement of individual success and crass material gain.” 1 But Americans in the early 1950s also had to come to terms with an increasingly urban and corporate nation. The old emphasis on individualism had to be tempered to suit the new organizational context, which demanded conformity and consensus, and this change, too, showed up in the movies. America in the 1950s was also adjusting to being a world power. The Cold War grew hot in Korea in 1950 and cold again when that “limited war” ended in stalemate in 1953. At home, the threat of Communism produced fear that bordered on paranoia, reinforcing consensus and conformity and giving birth to a fervid anti- Communism that culminated in the career of Senator Joseph McCarthy.

The forces of conformity and consensus were so strong in the 1950s that they domi-nate our memories and images of the decade. Postwar optimism and faith in the future had been strengthened by prosperity and widespread support for the moderate conservatism of President Eisenhower. But the nation was not as placid as it seemed. International poli-tics was dominated by the Cold War, and the sense of American hegemony was fading. In 1956, America stood by as the Soviet Union invaded Hungary. The following year Russia launched its Sputnik satellite, and America felt technologically inferior for the fi rst time in decades. When Fidel Castro signed a trade agreement with the Soviet Union in 1959, Com-munism seemed to have arrived at America’s doorstep. And the threat of nuclear war loomed over all the events of the decade.

Even as the world became a more dangerous place, the paranoia of the House Un- American Activities Committee (HUAC) and Senator Joseph McCarthy fell into discredit, and domestic politics became more complex as liberals grew braver and new social move-ments emerged. The civil rights movement gained momentum and by 1957 was in the forefront of American politics, where it would stay for two decades. Rock and roll and the Beat movement drove a signifi cant wedge between generations, and journalists pounded the wedge in deeper by mocking the bland conformity of suburbia and the organization men in their gray fl annel suits.

All these changes were mirrored and sometimes predicted by the movies. Political fi lms were still made, though they were fewer and different. Social issue fi lms peaked in the late 1940s, but kept appearing right through the 1950s. Among them was an increasing number of movies about rebellious teenagers, like The Wild One (1953) and Rebel Without a Cause (1955). But this was also a time when new genres emerged and old ones changed as the power of the studios and the Production Code Administration (PCA) broke down.

As the nation and world changed, the fi lm industry itself was restructured by the studios’ divestiture of their theater chains. In 1949, the Justice Department had given the big stu-dios fi ve years to implement divestiture, which, when completed, denied them their captive exhibitors and thus their captive audiences. By the 1950s, theater owners could compete for fi lms by bidding and could refuse to show studio productions that they perceived as inferior or controversial. This development may have discouraged the studios from taking risks on

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political subjects, for few political fi lms were produced after divestiture was implemented in 1954, but also it gave independent producers access to audiences. As a result, independents were the major source of political fi lms by the late 1950s.

Even more than divestiture, the studios worried about television. Weekly movie attend-ance dropped from 90 million a week in 1948 to 40 million in 1958. TV broke the habit of regular moviegoing. A worried Hollywood tried to lure audiences back with extravagant historical epics and technical innovations that TV could not match, like VistaVision and 3- D. “Movies are better than ever,” a desperate advertising campaign declared.

The result of these elaborate efforts and declining box offi ce receipts was fewer, more costly fi lms designed to draw huge audiences. Annual production fell from 383 fi lms in 1950 to 154 in 1960. And the more spectacular Hollywood fi lms became, the less politi-cal they were, at least in terms of overt, contemporary politics. Independent fi lmmakers like Stanley Kramer made a few political fi lms during the 1950s, and the lack of studio controls may have let the independents express their ideas more freely, but their political output remained modest, because the caution of investors and distributors made it hard to raise the necessary money. However, some of the studio- produced epics, westerns, and science fi ction movies of the era had political content. Michael Wood points out that per-secution of minorities is the theme of several epics, including Quo Vadis (1951), The Robe (1953), and Ben Hur (1959), while Stanley Kubrick’s Spartacus (1960) delivers a lesson about revolution. 2 Other fi lm historians have noted the allegorical politics of westerns like High Noon (1952) and sci- fi movies like The Thing (1951) and Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956).

As it turned out, however, Hollywood had another reason to avoid political fi lms in the form of HUAC and the Red Scare (see Chapter 3 ).

Gary Cooper plays a sheriff taking off his badge in disgust after the town deserts him in High Noon (1952).

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Hollywood Joins the Anti- Communist Crusade

Hollywood made at least thirty- three anti- Communist fi lms between 1947 and 1954, 3 although many more scored anti- Red points allegorically or featured Communist villains. These productions, peaking in number just after the 1947 and 1951 hearings, suggest that the fi lm industry got the hint when HUAC asked director Leo McCarey, a cooperative witness, if he thought Hollywood made enough anti- Communist fi lms.

The fi rst such venture was The Iron Curtain (1948), a box offi ce failure produced by Darryl Zanuck and directed by William Wellman. This was a traditional espionage story in which the Communist characters were so villainous that outraged leftists picketed the movie when it opened. The following year saw the release of three box offi ce fl ops: The Red Menace , The Red Danube , and I Married a Communist , a Howard Hughes produc-tion starring Robert Ryan, which Time magazine referred to as “a celluloid bullet aimed at the USSR.” 4 This movie also attacked the West Coast dockworkers’ union, which then had Communist leaders, and it was allegedly used to test the politics of various directors, thirteen of whom refused to work on it. 5 When the fi lm failed, Hughes withdrew it, edited it so as to deemphasize its politics, and then released it as The Woman on Pier 13 , but it was no more successful. Despite their failure, these movies entrenched the “dirty Commie” stereotype. Sleazy, immoral, often fat and effeminate, these characters left no doubt that they were bad guys, and audiences saw them over and over in the 1950s, just as they had seen the same stereotypes as Nazis a decade earlier.

A somewhat less overtly anti- Communist fi lm, The Fountainhead , was also released in 1949. Surprisingly, King Vidor, the progressive maker of The Big Parade and Our Daily Bread , directed this one. The principal source of the conservatism in The Fountainhead , however, was not Vidor but the reactionary author of the story, Ayn Rand. She was a leader of the archconservative, anti- Communist Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals and the formulator of the “Screen Guide for Americans.” Published to coincide with the 1947 HUAC hearings as a supplement to the Motion Picture Produc-ers and Distributors of America’s production code, Rand’s guide advised fi lmmakers not to “smear the free- enterprise system” or “success” or “industrialists,” not to “deify the ‘com-mon man,’” and not to “glorify the collective.” 6

The Fountainhead refl ects these directives in its story of Howard Roark (Gary Cooper), an avant- garde architect who is nearly hounded out of his profession by traditionalists and conformists. He gets a few jobs and becomes a modest success, but when his design for a public housing project is altered, he blows up the building. At the trial that follows, he makes an impassioned plea for artistic integrity and individual rights. The jurors swallow the dyna-miter’s line and let him off.

The Fountainhead clearly expresses Rand’s right- wing libertarianism. The enemy is the public, whipped up by cynical media manipulators. The declared intent of one of them, improbably an architecture critic, is to raise the collective and destroy the individual. But despite the movie’s condemnation of the masses and public opinion, in the end Roark demands public approval for his act of destruction and gets it from the jury and a courtroom audience. Thanks to its often ludicrous sexuality, The Fountainhead has become a camp classic, but contemporary critics did not think it was funny. “The most asinine and inept movie that has come from Hollywood for years,” sneered The New Yorker ; “long- winded,

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complicated preachment . . . pretentious . . . turgid . . . twaddle,” agreed the New York Times . 7 Apparently critics did not feel compelled to please HUAC by praising a right- wing fi lm.

The Fountainhead was unusually indirect, however, in its attack on Communism. Far more typical was Big Jim McLain (1952), which starred John Wayne as a HUAC agent purging Communists from Hawaii. Production of these anti- Communist fi lms peaked with thirteen in 1952 alone, just a year after HUAC renewed its investigation. Among these was My Son John , Leo McCarey’s response to HUAC.

McCarey’s movie is about the all- American Jefferson family, played by familiar actors in familiar parts. Dean Jagger is the American Legionnaire father, Helen Hayes the devoutly Catholic mother, and Robert Walker their misled son John. When the intellectual, college- educated John comes home for a visit and makes sarcastic remarks about the American Legion, his father questions John’s Americanism. Then a visit from the FBI worries Mom, who is reassured when John swears his loyalty on her Bible. “John stands for everything I stand for,” she explains. “He’s just a liberal. Saint Paul was a liberal.” Dad is not so sure, though. “How’s your supper coming?” he asks his wife, sending her scurrying away so he can have a man- to- man talk with his son. They argue, John makes some anti- American remarks, and Dad hits him with a Bible. When John returns to Washington, his mother fol-lows him to return a key he has left behind. Learning from the FBI that the key is for the apartment of a female spy, Mom uses the key and confronts her son. He confesses to having an affair but denies that he is a spy. The unbelieving mother turns him in to the FBI, then with rosary in hand, tearfully begs him to confess. “Take him away,” she says when he refuses. “You have to be punished, John.” The FBI agent urges him to “use whatever free will you have. Give up. Name names.” John escapes, then remorsefully phones the FBI and agrees to turn himself in and become an informer. On his way, the Communists shoot up his taxi, which crashes ostentatiously on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial killing him. Fortu-nately, John has left a tape- recorded confession, which is melodramatically played for the graduating class at his alma mater.

Like other fi lms of this cycle, My Son John casts suspicion on intellectuals and liberals, who are perceived as easy dupes for Communists. The fi lm disapproves of John for rushing off to see his egghead professor when he fi rst comes home instead of staying with his par-ents, who represent the traditional American values of patriotism, religion, and family. John is advised to emulate the simple- minded patriotism of his father and “think with your heart, not your head,” as his mother puts it. Nobody in this fi lm does much thinking, however. For-tunately, the FBI is there to take care of things, although one agent admits that “those with something to hide” often criticize its methods.

My Son John was better than most of the anti- Communist movies, although its thinking was muddled and its plot was jumbled, possibly because lead actor Robert Walker died before the fi lm was completed. The critics noted both fl aws. The New York Times called it “cultural vigilantism,” endorsing a “stool pigeon” mother and a father’s “stubborn bigotry” as well as taking “a snide attitude toward intellectuals.” 8 Although the critics did not like My Son John , Hollywood signaled its approval by nominating McCarey’s original story for an Academy Award, perhaps for HUAC’s benefi t. McCarey himself argued that the fi lm had a happy ending, saying, “I’ve never yet ended a fi lm on a note of futility.” 9 John is dead and his family is broken, but McCarey saw John’s tape- recorded speech as a kind of redemption. Better dead than red!

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My Son John was one of the last of the crusading anti- Communist fi lms. By 1954, Sena-tor McCarthy had brought about his own downfall through his investigation of the army and his attacks on the president. HUAC also faded away. The Cold War went on and so did the blacklist, but few anti- Communist movies were made after 1953, partly because the pressure was off and also because audiences had not fl ocked to the earlier fi lms.

The Quiet American (1957), a fi lm that was both behind and ahead of its time, was perhaps a vestige of this cycle. Writer- director Joseph Mankiewicz puts a distinctively American twist in his adaptation of a novel by British author Graham Greene. The scene is Vietnam in the early 1950s, with the French fi ghting a Communist- nationalist revolution. Thomas Fowler (Michael Redgrave) is a British journalist cynically observing the decline of Euro-pean imperialism and the rise of American power and the Third World. He tells the story of a man known only as “the American,” played by Audie Murphy. Without a personal name to defi ne his character individually, the American stands all that more bluntly for his country’s post war political and economic order. Caught between the two men and the worlds they represent is Phuong (Giorgia Moll), a Vietnamese girl who spurns her European lover when she falls for the American.

The fi lm follows Greene’s novel closely at fi rst. The American arrives in Saigon spout-ing his professor’s theory about the need for “a third force” that is neither imperialist nor Communist. Fowler, the journalist, presumes that the American is an undercover agent for his government. In the book, this is true and the American is destroyed when his plot goes awry, but Mankiewicz balked at this anti- American message. “I have no politics,” says the journalist, but a nasty Communist agent persuades him that the American is aiding terrorist murderers and insists, “Sooner or later, one has to take sides.” Fowler gives in, losing his professional objectivity and aiding the Communists, not only to prevent terrorism but also to destroy his rival. The American turns out to be innocent, merely a do- gooder who imports food, not bombs. A French policeman explains that “the idea had to be murdered,” appar-ently meaning that aid was as threatening to Communists as military intervention.

Although better than earlier anti- Communist movies, The Quiet American also fl opped with critics and audiences. These fi lms may have failed less because of their message than because of their sledgehammer delivery—their political intent was too obvious for their own good. In the end, they may have hurt the anti- Communist cause more than they helped it. A 2002 version of The Quiet American starring Michael Caine as the anguished Brit and Brendan Fraser as the American stuck closer to Graham Greene’s novel and made its politi-cal points with more subtlety.

In Other Words

However, Hollywood did not enlist en masse in HUAC’s holy war. Dissenters survived and even dared to speak out against the Cold War and HUAC’s witch hunt, although they often did so indirectly or allegorically.

High Noon (1952) was a western, but according to Carl Foreman, who wrote it, “What High Noon was about at the time, was Hollywood and no other place but Hollywood.” 10 Producer Stanley Kramer, a leading Hollywood liberal, and Foreman, who was soon to be blacklisted, were commenting on the fi lmmakers’ abandonment of their colleagues who were under attack by HUAC. This fi lm is about a sheriff (Gary Cooper) who gets no help from the townspeople when a vengeful gang of killers comes after him. No cavalry arrives

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representing the federal government, nor do the people rally around their sheriff, as in the populist movies of the 1930s. High Noon is a bleak story of one man’s courage to stand up to a hostile enemy in defense of his town despite being deserted by its citizens. In the context of the HUAC hearings, Cooper’s sheriff represents those appearing before the committee who refused to give in to the paranoia and bullying and name names. The townspeople represent the craven witnesses who cooperated, turning on their colleagues to spare their own careers. Its left- leaning politics were smoothly folded into a movie that became a hit with audiences and critics and picked up Oscars for Cooper’s performance and Dmitri Tiompkin’s music.

Meanwhile, those who had cooperated with HUAC defended themselves in works like On the Waterfront (1954), written by Budd Schulberg, featuring Lee J. Cobb and Leif Erick-son, and directed by Elia Kazan, all of whom had named names for HUAC. Kazan had joined the crusade against Communism with Viva Zapata! (1952) and Man on a Tightrope (1953), in which a Czechoslovakian circus owner tries to escape from Communism, but On the Waterfront is not so much an anti- Communist movie as a vindication of informers. Making an informer into a hero, however, was no mean feat. Stool pigeons had always been disdained in American folklore and movies.

Terry Malloy (Marlon Brando) is the informer in On the Waterfront . His girlfriend (Eva Marie Saint) and a priest (Karl Malden) urge him to tell a government investigator (Leif Erickson) the truth about the corrupt activities of a union boss (Lee J. Cobb). Terry must choose between his loyalty to friends and coworkers and a higher order represented by the girl, the priest, and the investigator. His choice is simplifi ed when the mob rubs out not only Terry’s brother (Rod Steiger), but his pet pigeons as well.

“The message is clear,” Victor Navasky writes. “The injunction against informing is all right as a guideline for an adolescent gang, but it won’t do for adults who are obliged to look at each situation in its own moral context. (What’s ratting for them is telling the truth for you.) Squealing is relative.” 11 Besides, Terry really has no choice, and the audience has no option but to sympathize with him. Not only must he avenge the murder of his brother and loss of his pigeons, but also he must fi ght the corrupt union, win the girl, and please the priest and the investigator.

Beyond its justifi cation of informing, On the Waterfront is politically orthodox. Like other movies about politics, it praises individual action and a benign government. It never occurs to Terry, for example, to rally the troops and reform the union from within; collective action simply is not an option. Instead, like a good corporate liberal, he puts himself in the hands of the federal agents. Still, Kazan managed to make On the Waterfront and his other socially conscious fi lms complex enough for their messages to be palatable. The public and the critics liked On the Waterfront , and it swept the Oscars.

An even grittier movie about the working class was made the same year, however. Funded by a mine workers union, Salt of the Earth was a collaborative effort by blacklisted fi lm-makers, including its director, Herbert Biberman. Except for Rosaura Revueltas, a Mexican movie star, and a few American character actors like Will Geer (who later played Grandpa Walton on television), the cast was made up of real- life miners and their families.

In Salt of the Earth , the Mexican- American zinc miners go on strike because Anglo work-ers in their company’s other mines have better pay and working conditions. The company says it “can’t afford equality,” however, and it uses cheap Mexican labor to keep the Anglos in line. While the men strike over salaries and working conditions, the women meet and independently decide to strike over housing and sanitation in the company town. The men

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shrug these demands off, saying they are not as important as working conditions, but when a court order prohibits them from picketing and the women replace them, the men take over the housework and soon agree to include the women’s demands in the bargaining. The vote to put the women on the picket line is the turning point that solidifi es the community. The miners are aided by their international union and others, but the fi lm makes it clear that they are essentially on their own and treats them with great reverence. Only the company men and the sheriff (Will Geer) come off badly; they are caricatured in a turnabout of Hollywood tradition.

Salt of the Earth is remarkable for being feminist when no movies, liberal or conserva-tive, recognized women’s issues, but what is truly remarkable is that a leftist fi lm was made at all at the height of McCarthyism. Not surprisingly, the production process was often disrupted. The fi lmmakers were harassed by gun- carrying townspeople on location, and the Mexican actress who played the lead was deported three times during the shooting of the fi lm. After it was completed, distributors boycotted it and the projectionists’ union refused to screen it. In the end, Salt of the Earth was screened in only eleven theaters, most of them in New York and Los Angeles, and then it was not seen again for a decade. Even now, the fi lm is shown mainly in union halls and at leftist conferences, and it is not listed in most fi lm reference books.

Salt of the Earth was attacked out of all proportion to the size of its audiences. The American Legion condemned it, and the cinemas showing it were picketed. Film historian Andrew Dowdy remembers being “warned to park [his car] blocks away . . . because FBI men were taking down license plate numbers at the theater.” 12 Variety screamed that the Rus-sians had to be prevented from getting prints or they would use the movie as anti- American propaganda, 13 but other reviews were more balanced. Time conceded that “within the propa-gandistic limits it sets,” it was “a vigorous work of art” from which “social anger hisses.” 14 Whatever its fl aws, Salt of the Earth provided an alternative vision of workers and unions and was particularly notable for its feminism. Many Americans shared its political perspec-tive, a perspective that they rarely saw on fi lm. Nor did most of them see Salt of the Earth . And Hollywood, of course, took note of its fate.

A more direct rebuttal of HUAC came in Daniel Taradash’s Storm Center (1956), “a sure loser as the only attack on HUAC ever made in a Hollywood studio,” according to Andrew Dowdy. 15 In this movie, Bette Davis plays a librarian who refuses to remove from her library a book called The Communist Dream . She is accused of belonging to Communist front groups and fi red, but a boy gets carried away and burns the library down. Storm Center attacked the inquisitorial, guilt- by- association techniques of HUAC, but the message of free speech was so oversimplifi ed that even the Daughters of the American Revolution endorsed it, and the movie was an unqualifi ed fl op. Storm Center was not Hollywood’s last word on the deep trauma of the investigations, the pain of which is still not forgotten. But even in the early 1950s and certainly later in that decade, other issues were arising in the nation and in the movies.

Other Takes on Politics in the Early 1950s

While the Red Scare dominated Hollywood and shaped the themes of most of the political fi lms of the early 1950s, more traditional fi lms about politics and social issues were also produced, though they were fewer and more cautious.

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Hollywood expressed its liberalism in a number of fi lms that featured minorities. The image of Indians, for example, was rehabilitated in Broken Arrow (1950), with Jeff Chan-dler playing Cochise and James Stewart as the government agent who understands him. In Apache (1954), Indians, portrayed as pretty much like the rest of us, settle down on farms. Latinos received less attention, but Joseph Losey, later a target of the HUAC witch- hunters, directed The Lawless (1950), an update of The Grapes of Wrath centering on Mexican- American migrants, and Elia Kazan cast Marlon Brando as the lead in Viva Zapata! (1952). Later, Giant (1956), a precursor of TV’s Dallas and Dynasty , starring Rock Hudson, Eliza-beth Taylor, and James Dean, preached a mild sermon about equality for women and Latinos. Sidney Poitier made his debut in No Way Out (1950), while conservatives Ginger Rogers and Ronald Reagan did their bit in the anti- KKK Storm Warning (1950). Poitier was back in The Defi ant Ones (1958), and racism was also a theme in Imitation of Life (1959). A different social problem, juvenile delinquency, hit the screens in 1955 in The Blackboard Jungle and Rebel Without a Cause . Both were controversial, but The Blackboard Jungle was condemned as Communist propaganda because it presented a negative picture of the United States.

Meanwhile, three fi lms of the early 1950s took on politics in a more direct and traditional way. One was a comedy, one a biopic, and one a drama, but all three were high on both political content and intent.

The most successful of the three was Born Yesterday (1950), a comedy directed by George Cukor. After a shot of the Capitol that tells us where we are, we meet Harry (Broderick Crawford), a junk man who has become a big- time “dealer in scrap metals” in Washington and who has attempted to further his own interests by bribing some congressmen. With him is Billie (Judy Holliday), his crass mistress. Harry persuades Paul (William Holden), a reporter, to coach Billie and make her more presentable; Paul agrees in order to spy on

Imitation of Life (1959) presents a deeply affecting illustration of “passing” in the character of light- skinned Sarah Jane (Susan Kohner), the daughter of long- suffering African- American domestic worker Annie (Juanita Moore), lower right. “I’m white, I’m white,” screams Sarah Jane into the mirror.

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Harry. “Harry’s a menace,” Paul instructs Billie. “The whole history of the world is the story of the struggle between the selfi sh and the unselfi sh. . . . All that’s bad around us is bred by selfi shness. Sometimes selfi shness is a cause, an organized force, even a government, and then it’s called fascism.” Paul, on the other hand, represents intellect, enlightenment, altru-ism, even democracy—plus he is cute. He wins Billie’s affection, and she helps him expose Harry. Good triumphs over evil, and Born Yesterday makes it clear that Harry is out of date when even his cynical attorney tells him that despite “a few bad apples,” congressmen are basically honest. Cukor’s fi lm was well received by both the public and the critics and is still a favorite, thanks largely to Judy Holliday’s performance, for which she won an Oscar. Melanie Griffi th played the part in a less successful remake in 1993.

Viva Zapata! (1952), a biopic about the Mexican peasant revolutionary Emiliano Zapata, was written by John Steinbeck and directed, perhaps surprisingly, by Elia Kazan, who had named names as a witness before HUAC. Zapata, played by Marlon Brando, is motivated to lead a revolution not out of any profound political beliefs, but to win land for his people. The revolution succeeds, but its leaders bicker and more fi ghting ensues until Zapata reluctantly accepts the presidency. He is encouraged by Fernando (Joseph Wiseman), a bizarre- looking political manipulator who is dressed in black and apparently intended as a stereotypical Marxist revolutionary. Zapata soon feels he is being corrupted by power, like other leaders before him, so he resigns and returns to his people, whom, eventually, he must again lead in a guerrilla revolution. The new rulers know how to end this one, however. “Cut off the head of the snake, and the body will die,” Fernando advises. “Kill Zapata, and your problem’s solved.” Zapata, however, has trained his people not to need him. “You’ve always looked for leaders,” he instructs them, “strong men without faults. There aren’t any. They’re only men like yourselves. They change. They desert. They die. There are no leaders but yourselves. A strong people is the only lasting strength.” Zapata goes Christlike to his death, apparently knowing that he has been betrayed but that his spirit will be an inspiration to his people. “Sometimes,” an army offi cer observes, “a dead man can be a terrible enemy.”

Viva Zapata! was a modest box offi ce success, perhaps surprising for a movie about a Mexican revolutionary released at the height of McCarthyism in the conservative 1950s, but its message is more romantic than revolutionary. The movie never addresses the root causes of the Mexican Revolution in class confl ict, focusing instead on straightforward corruption. Evil men subvert the revolution, presumably in their own interests, and Kazan later claimed that these characters made the movie anti- Communist.

A Lion Is in the Streets (1953) was a more traditional political drama that reiterated the condemnation of demagoguery sounded in All the King’s Men . Lion stars James Cagney as an ambitious man of the people who betrays his own supporters to win the favor of the machine. When even this fails, he leads an armed mob on the state capitol to demand that the legislature resolve a tie vote for the governorship in his favor. Like Willie Stark in All the King’s Men , he is ultimately assassinated by someone he has wronged. Although the movie’s warning about the dangers of strong leaders and mobs was timely in the era of McCarthyism, the movie was mostly ignored.

With reactions like this plus divestiture, HUAC, and other worries about censorship, no wonder Hollywood backed away from political and social issue fi lms. For all their worries, however, fi lmmakers continued to challenge the Production Code, and some even became more daring in the conservative, conformist 1950s. Otto Preminger managed to get his sex comedy The Moon Is Blue (1953) screened without Code approval despite dialogue that

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seemed scandalous in those days. He then took on the forbidden subject of drug abuse in The Man with the Golden Arm (1955) and got away with that, too. In 1956, the PCA, bowing to pressure from the fi lm industry, amended the Code to permit the subjects of drugs, abortion, prostitution, kidnapping, and miscegenation. The remaining rules quickly crumbled. Films about homosexuals began to appear, for example, including Tea and Sympathy (1958) and Suddenly Last Summer (1960). Gradually, fewer and fewer “sinners” were punished.

Changing Genres

While some fi lmmakers of the 1950s challenged the Production Code, others remolded old movie genres to suit the changing times. War movies, for example, underwent a transforma-tion after World War II. Peter Biskind points out that World War II fi lms were written mostly by liberals like Lillian Hellman, Dalton Trumbo, and John Howard Lawson. These writers “were preoccupied with articulating war aims—democracy, freedom, brotherhood—and went out of their way to explain why we fought.” Films about the Korean War, how-ever, were apolitical adventures because the moviemakers “didn’t know why we fought, and what’s more, they didn’t care.” 16 Biskind goes on to describe three different political perspectives in the war movies of the 1950s. Attack (1956) and Paths of Glory (1957) were leftist fi lms criticizing war and the military, while The Court- Martial of Billy Mitchell (1955) was a conservative condemnation of bureaucracy. The mainstream political ideology of the decade, however, was expressed in the centrist Strategic Air Command (1955).

In this fi lm, Dutch (James Stewart) is a baseball player and U.S. Air Force reservist who is recalled to temporary duty. Over the objections of his wife (June Allyson), he signs up permanently. She would not object, he tells her, if there was a war on, and he explains that “there is a kind of war. We’ve got to stay ready to fi ght without fi ghting. That’s even tougher.” A bad arm excuses Dutch from service, but not before the fi lm demands public support for the men of the fl ying force and their dependents. Dutch, his wife, and the U.S. Air Force all win, providing a centrist solution, but only after the husband and wife express their willingness to sacrifi ce their selfi sh preferences to the greater cause. The fi lm educated audiences on the military policy of the day and, as in the other war fi lms of the decade, shifted the focus from the groups of enlisted men featured in movies about World War II to the offi cer elite, in whom the nation was to place its trust.

While war movies changed, another genre grew in prominence in the 1950s. The popu-larity of science fi ction movies fed on the new interest in outer space and the anxiety about atomic power. Mostly low in both political content and intent, these fi lms are best under-stood as socially refl ective movies featuring fantastic displacement in which the nation’s fears were played out in the fantasy of the movies. Some, however, were more clearly politi-cal. In an era when direct political commentary was dangerous, science fi ction offered a rich source of allegory. Whether the aliens in these movies were mutants affected by radiation or invaders from another planet, they could represent any threat, from technology gone mad to Communist infi ltration.

As with war movies, Peter Biskind sees the political right, left, and center in sci- fi . While the centrist movies reassured us that we were in good hands, the left and right used sci- fi to deliver utopian and antiutopian messages and to warn us not only about invaders but also about the ineptitude of our rulers. Proponents of all three perspectives seemed to agree on the need for vigilance. Right- wing sci- fi was paranoid about infi ltration ( The Thing , 1951;

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Them! , 1954) and about people hopelessly searching for utopias ( Forbidden Planet , 1956) and getting into things they should have kept out of. Science and government often saved the day, as in Them! and Forbidden Planet , but sometimes they were inept and average guys became heroes, as in The Thing . Left- wing sci- fi , on the other hand, had benign aliens offering utopia only to be rejected by dumb humans ( The Day the Earth Stood Still , 1951). Biskind quotes Jack Arnold, the director of It Came from Outer Space (1953), who declared he “wanted to have some meaning to it all. I think science fi ction fi lms are a marvelous medium for telling a story, creating a mood, and delivering whatever kind of social message should be delivered. . . . If ten per cent of the audience grasped it, then I was very success-ful.” 17 In centrist sci- fi , danger usually came when nature went berserk ( The Black Scorpion , 1957; The Creature from the Black Lagoon , 1954). Radiation, a new worry in the 1950s, was often at fault, but these movies trusted good scientists or the government to come to the rescue. Alien pods turn normal people into unfeeling automatons in Don Siegel’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956). Now seen by some fi lm scholars as a leftist condemnation of the conformity of the 1950s, few doubted, when the movie was fi rst released, that it was a rightist denunciation of Communist mind control. The ending, to which Siegel purportedly objected, was centrist, however, with the federal government stepping in to save the day. The invasions and disasters of sci- fi were a perfect medium for centrist messages because they “dramatized the necessity of consensus, of pulling together,” according to Biskind. 18 Happy endings, provided by government, science, or the military, reassured us that we were in good hands.

Political Films in the Late 1950s: Angry Men, Bosses, and Demagogues

According to Biskind, however, the ultimate centrist political movie of the 1950s was the drama Twelve Angry Men (1957), directed by Sidney Lumet. The men of the title are members of a jury, a convenient cross section of American males. They vote 11 to 1 to convict the defendant, but the lone dissenter, a liberal architect played by Henry Fonda, gradually turns them around. The court system works in this fi lm, but only because of the presence of one good man. Although the lone liberal dissenter prevails, it is also important that all the others agree with him in the end, providing a centrist solution typical of the conformist 1950s.

The Last Hurrah (1958) was less distinctly contemporary than Twelve Angry Men , but although it reminisced about the good old days of machine politics, it also had something to say about politics in the coming decade. Based on Edwin O’Connor’s novel about an aging boss, The Last Hurrah was directed by John Ford, whose treatment oozes with nostalgia for a simpler past. Although the movie’s portrayal of the machine was sympathetic, Boston’s mayor, James Michael Curley, thought its fi ctional city was suffi ciently like his own to attempt to have the fi lm suppressed.

Ford’s casting of the always- benign Spencer Tracy as an aging Irish- American political boss running for mayoral re- election named Frank Skeffi ngton immediately suggests that the machine cannot be all bad. Several touching scenes in which Skeffi ngton helps his peo-ple solve their problems reinforce this impression. The machine is shown to be corrupt only on a small scale, and the point is repeatedly made that politics is a means of social mobility for Irish immigrants like Skeffi ngton. When the town’s leading banker, a Yankee aristocrat

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(Basil Rathbone), refuses to lend the city money for a project Skeffi ngton needs to ensure his reelection, saying “the banks don’t consider the city a good risk under the current admin-istration,” Skeffi ngton responds, “The city is no longer yours, it’s ours. That’s what really bothers you.”

But he is wrong. The power of the machine is crumbling, partly from sheer age, a point made both visually and verbally. The old Yankee aristocracy plots to run a slick but vacu-ous media candidate against Skeffi ngton to attract the emerging urban middle class, the children of Skeffi ngton’s supporters. “Politics is the best spectator sport in the country,” Skeffi ngton says as he tries to make the most of his rallies and speeches. But he knows that his old- fashioned campaign style is “on the way out. It’ll all be TV,” he explains. His bland opponent puts his family on TV in a scene reminiscent of Richard Nixon’s famous Checkers speech, complete with dog, and wins the election as Skeffi ngton dies.

The critics found The Last Hurrah sentimental, old- fashioned, and oversimplifi ed, although a few thought it gave a good sense of how politics worked. Slow and one- sided as it is, Ford’s fi lm is a rich portrait of machine politics that could have been improved by a less saintly Skeffi ngton and a less callow opponent. The younger candidate is so ludicrous that his victory looks like a condemnation of the voters’ gullibility—and of TV, which may have refl ected the fi lmmakers’ attitude toward the competing medium and its audience. Still, The Last Hurrah shows how the machine helped immigrants assimilate and how it cared for people, humanizing and personalizing their government. Sociologists were writing about these functions of the political machines in the 1950s; The Last Hurrah illustrated them.

Despite its sentimentality, the movie respects politics, treating politicians as caring and distinctly human people. The younger generation of politicians comes off less well, how-ever, as do the old aristocracy. The portrait of this Anglo elite plotting against the upstart Irish gives The Last Hurrah added depth by making the class basis of political confl ict clear, something few other American political fi lms have accomplished. Condemnation of the elite is not balanced by faith in the masses, however. No respect is shown for the voters in The Last Hurrah , no Capra- like trust in the people. Rather, they seem to get what they deserve when the media candidate wins the election.

Such pessimism about the power of television and the gullibility of the people became the theme of several American movies in the 1950s. Elia Kazan took it up in A Face in the Crowd (1957), written by his On the Waterfront collaborator Budd Schulberg. In this movie, Lonesome Rhodes (Andy Griffi th) is a bum who is discovered by a local radio station and catapulted into stardom as a singer and populist philosopher. He ends up grooming a dull conservative candidate for president in return for the promise of becoming secretary for national morale if the candidate wins. Rhodes is cynical, using his talent and the television medium only to gain sex, wealth, and power. The politicians are equally cynical, using Rho-des and his methods to sell themselves rather than their programs to the voters. Rhodes is done in when a spurned lover leaves a microphone on after he thinks he is off the air. The demagogue’s insulting remarks turn his audience against him, and his fame and power dis-sipate overnight.

Kazan was commenting more on the superfi cial power of television than on politics, but A Face in the Crowd made it clear that politicians would use that power and that the public would be duped unless good people told the truth—and there were not many of them around. Like Ford, Kazan seemed pessimistic about the people.

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On Toward Camelot

Political movies had changed during the 1950s. They had begun to deal with discrimination, they had confronted the Cold War, and they had learned to look at the Communist threat and the anti- Communist crusade from a new perspective. The result was a substantial body of political fi lms from an era that is commonly perceived as dull and apolitical. Films like State of the Union , The Last Hurrah , and A Face in the Crowd had new and different things to say. Generally more cynical, they were also more complex, sophisticated, and realistic. Unlike the redemptive politics of some 1920s movies or the longing for strong leaders of the 1930s or even the uplifting triumphs of the people and their innocent leaders best captured by Frank Capra, the political fi lms of this era saw good men destroyed. The message of the 1950s was more a warning than a rallying cry, however, urging conformity over either indi-vidualism or collective action.

And while the fi lm rolled, America went from Truman to Eisenhower to Kennedy, from postwar optimism to 1950s paranoia and conformity and, fi nally, to Camelot. Political fi lms had grown more sophisticated by the Kennedy years, but the liberalism that Kennedy inspired did not catch up with either the nation or its fi lmmakers until after his assassination in 1963.

Notes

1 . Joan Mellen, Big Bad Wolves (New York: Pantheon, 1977), p. 189. 2 . Michael Wood, America in the Movies (New York: Basic Books, 1975), p. 184. 3 . Dorothy Jones, “Communism in the Movies,” in Report on Blacklisting I: The Movies , ed. John

Cogley (New York: Fund for the Republic, 1956), pp. 300–301.

A Face in the Crowd (1957) features Andy Griffi th as “Lonesome” Rhodes, a charismatic, itinerant guitar player who cultivates a devoted following on radio and television until, drunk with political power and fame—“I’m gonna be the power behind the president!”—he self- destructs.

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4 . Time, October 17, 1949. 5 . Colin Shindler, Hollywood at War (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1979), p. 121. 6 . Cited in John Cogley, ed., Report on Blacklisting I: The Movies (New York: Fund for the Repub-

lic, 1956), p. 11. 7 . The New Yorker , July 16, 1949; New York Times , July 9, 1949. 8 . New York Times , April 9, 1952. 9 . Quoted in Variety , March 26, 1952. 10 . Quoted in Peter Biskind, Seeing Is Believing (London: Pluto Press, 1984), p. 49. 11 . Victor Navasky, Naming Names (New York: Penguin, 1983), p. 210. 12 . Andrew Dowdy, The Films of the 1950s (New York: Morrow, 1973), p. 35. 13 . Variety , March 17, 1954. 14 . Time , March 29, 1954. 15 . Dowdy, p. 184. 16 . Biskind, p. 59. 17 . Ibid., p. 159. 18 . Ibid., p. 102.

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The 1960s From Mainstream to Counterculture

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)

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America’s youngest president took offi ce in January 1961, ushering in a new political era. John F. Kennedy’s tragic death less than three years later has perhaps caused us to exagger-ate his stature as a leader, but even so, his presidency signaled a change. The roots of that change were not so much in his politics as in his image.

Kennedy, a moderate Democrat more interested in foreign than domestic policy, identifi ed a “missile gap” between the United States and the Soviet Union and promised to get America moving again. He did, increasing military spending and launching the space program. He also introduced a boldly active Cold War interventionism that included the disastrous inva-sion of Cuba at the Bay of Pigs, a nuclear confrontation with the Soviet Union over missiles based in Cuba, and the beginnings of U.S. involvement in Vietnam.

Kennedy was not so active or interested, however, in such issues as civil rights, urban decay, and poverty. These were issues for which the 1960s would be remembered, but they emerged during and after Kennedy’s term in offi ce. He awoke to them as the nation did, but his close election and an uncooperative Congress made domestic politics treacherous for him, causing him to move slowly on these issues. It was left to his successor, Lyndon B. Johnson, to develop and implement the programs that distinguished the era, assisted by the political momentum of the spirit Kennedy had awakened and by his martyrdom.

While the Kennedy spirit helped liberalize the nation, the civil rights movement provided political momentum, driving both Kennedy and Johnson to the left. Martin Luther King Jr. led the great march on Washington in 1963. The following year saw riots in several urban ghettos to which Johnson responded with his Great Society program. Meanwhile, a wave of student activism started in 1964 and evolved into the radical New Left, then into the antiwar movement, and eventually into a youthful counterculture.

Where were the movies? In 1962, Advise and Consent caught some of Kennedy’s joy in politics, although its conclusion was as consensus- oriented as that of any 1950s movie and as confi dent that the system worked as Mr. Smith Goes to Washington . That same year, The Manchurian Candidate expressed some of the wit of the era by putting down McCarthy-ism, but it managed to do so safely by portraying the Red- baiters as the real Reds. In 1963, P.T. 109 , an action movie about the World War II exploits of John Kennedy (played by Cliff Robertson), simultaneously contributed to and cashed in on the young president’s popular-ity. For the most part, however, Hollywood lagged behind the nation, perhaps because it was a bad time for the fi lm industry.

By 1960, average weekly attendance at the movies had dropped to 40 million, half what it had been in the 1940s, and by 1970 it had fallen to only 20 million. The number of movie theaters declined, and so did the number of fi lms made, bottoming out with 154 in 1960. Some major studios, like MGM, quit making movies. Multinational corporations absorbed others, including United Artists and Paramount. Moviemakers grew more cautious and profi t- conscious, producing fewer fi lms as they concentrated, without great success, on blockbusters.

The movies launched a surprising revival later in the 1960s, however, even as television replaced the motion picture as America’s primary entertainment medium. Television took over the middle of the road, freeing movies to search for more selective audiences and thus to take more chances, even on politics. This risk- taking was limited, though, by the studios’ corporate conservatism and profi t orientation, which now forced them to take lucrative TV sales into consideration when making movies. The continued dominance of a few major dis-tributors was also a constraint, although independent producers like Stanley Kramer could

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win wide distribution by fi rst proving their fi lms during art house runs in New York and Los Angeles. The number of independent producers grew as distribution opportunities appeared, and liberal fi lmmakers began to take advantage of the nation’s new political mood. Kramer, Sidney Lumet, Stanley Kubrick, and Martin Ritt became more active, and others, like Dalton Trumbo and Abraham Polonsky, returned to work after having been blacklisted. They were joined by a new generation of politically oriented fi lmmakers, including Robert Altman, John Frankenheimer, Alan Pakula, Mike Nichols, and Arthur Penn.

There were new audiences, too. Some fi lmmakers began to exploit the large numbers of young ticket buyers, a move that resulted not only in beach- blanket movies but also in classics such as Bonnie and Clyde (1967) and The Graduate (1967). Others aimed at the growing and increasingly sophisticated art fi lm audience in big cities and university towns, an audience capable of making “small” movies profi table. The beach- blanket and art house audiences even merged to make big hits of a few independent productions with countercul-ture themes, like Easy Rider (1969).

In the liberal 1960s, the Production Code fi nally succumbed to defi ant fi lmmakers, civil libertarians, court decisions, changing politics, and the need for movies to attract audiences by giving them what they could not get on TV. By 1966, the Code was advisory rather than mandatory, but it still recommended rewarding virtue, condemning vice, and dealing cau-tiously with sex. For the fi rst time, it also suggested limits on violence. In 1968, the Code was replaced by the more liberal rating system, which limited fi lm audiences to specifi ed age groups, mainly to protect the young from sex, violence, and obscene language. Filmmakers were undoubtedly happy to be free of the Production Code’s restrictions, but investors and the public still served as censors, rejecting subjects that offended or angered large groups of people.

Angela Lansbury plays duplicitous, overbearing Mrs. Eleanor Shaw Iselin in The Manchurian Candidate (1962), a seminal fi lm about brainwashing during the Red Scare era.

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Although Hollywood was slow to pick up the politics of the decade, a number of political fi lms of the 1960s mark the beginning of a period during which American fi lmmakers more willingly criticized the dominant values of their society. Ironically, the decade that is often perceived as America’s most political produced fewer political fi lms than the consensus- oriented 1950s or even the 1920s. The American Film Institute subject index of fi lms of the 1960s lists seventy such movies that touch on political themes—only half as many as are listed for the 1920s. 1

On the Beach and the Political Films of the Early 1960s

On the Beach , one of the fi rst movies to catch the spirit of the 1960s, was actually made in 1959. Its director, Stanley Kramer, was one of Hollywood’s most consistent liberals, gen-erally seeing the people as victims rather than the dupes portrayed in The Last Hurrah or A Face in the Crowd . Kramer started as producer of Home of the Brave (1949), a fi lm about the racism experienced by a black war veteran. He went on to produce High Noon (1952), The Wild One (1954), and The Defi ant Ones (1958), which he also directed. All these fi lms as well as Kramer’s fi lms in the 1960s were unabashedly political in intent and content, although none dealt explicitly with the political process.

Based on Nevil Shute’s best- selling novel, On the Beach was an early disaster movie in which the last survivors of a nuclear holocaust, a cross section of humanity played by an all- star cast, await the radioactive clouds of death, mostly with dignity. On the Beach opened portentously with “a global premiere” in seventeen cities, including Moscow. It was treated as a profound statement on the need to face the possibility of an atomic future, a theme that had been touched on by sci- fi fi lms but never by a big- budget movie with stars like Gregory Peck, Ava Gardner, and Fred Astaire. It became the fi lm people talked about and felt they had to see. Critics liked it, too, although a few pointed out that it left audi-ences feeling helpless because it gave no clue as to what could be done to prevent the atomic holocaust. They also observed that the end of the world was more bland than hor-rifying in On the Beach . Time noted “what really is horrible about the end of the world: boy does not get girl.” 2

Kramer followed On the Beach with Inherit the Wind (1960), the story of the Scopes trial, which involved the teaching of Darwin’s theory of evolution in Tennessee schools. An impassioned plea for free speech, praising the good citizens who stand up for the persecuted teacher at the risk of angering the mob, the fi lm said as much about the 1950s as it did about the trial. Kramer next turned to persecution and prosecution on a grander scale with Judg-ment at Nuremberg (1961), which tells the story of the Holocaust through the trial of German war criminals. He dealt with anti- Semitism again in Ship of Fools (1965), and he took on race relations with Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967).

Some reviewers considered Kramer’s fi lms overly sentimental and simplistic, and they certainly seem so now, but they were popular hits, often garnering Academy Awards and nominations, and they were almost always treated respectfully as must- see movies. Remark-ably, Kramer managed to elicit this response despite his consistently liberal perspective. His use of all- star casts helped, and the softness of his liberalism made his messages easy to swallow. He never demanded much more than tolerance, and he rarely called on people to do much more than stand up for the rights of others, although this may have seemed like a lot in the post- McCarthy 1950s and early 1960s. Kramer’s movies surely contributed to the

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development of the social consciousness of the decade’s activists, a generation of Americans who were teenagers when Kramer was most prolifi c.

As the 1960s began, other fi lmmakers were also showing an interest in politics. Sunrise at Campobello (1960) told the story of the beginning of Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s career and his battle with polio. One of the last of the big biopics, Sunrise was also one of the increasingly rare movies that presented politics as a worthwhile pursuit with a politician as hero. Other political fi lms of the early 1960s took up more contemporary topics. Exodus (1960), directed by Otto Preminger and written by Dalton Trumbo, was a popular epic of the founding of modern Israel. Elia Kazan’s less successful Wild River (1960) dealt with the eradication of traditional rural life by progress in the form of federal dam- builders. The Ugly American (1962), a movie about Communism and nationalism, also fl opped, despite the star power of Marlon Brando and its prescient focus on southeast Asia. Director Billy Wilder, on the other hand, had a hit with One, Two, Three (1961), a daring satire of the Cold War starring James Cagney.

Mainstream Politics in the 1960s: The Best Men?

While all these fi lms were clearly political, a few movies of the 1960s dealt more explicitly with the political process, high in both political content and intent. Two of these pure politi-cal fi lms are classics whose messages about politics hold up today.

Melodrama combined with realism in Advise and Consent (1962), a political movie in the Hollywood tradition but with a skillful evocation of the Washington scene and a more probable plot than most such fi lms. Based on the novel by Washington journalist Allen

Spencer Tracy plays a lawyer defending the right of a science teacher to teach evolution in Inherit the Wind (1960).

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Drury, Advise and Consent was directed by Otto Preminger, who toned down the novel’s conservatism.

In this fi lm, Robert Leffi ngwell (Henry Fonda) is the presidential nominee for secretary of state, awaiting approval by the Senate, which, according to the Constitution, must advise the president and consent to his political appointments. Right- wingers label Leffi ngwell soft on Communism and denounce his “egg- headed arrogance.” We are on Leffi ngwell’s side from the outset, not only because he is played by Henry Fonda, but also because his chief opponent is the reactionary old southerner, Seab Cooley, portrayed with great relish by Charles Laughton. Pushing from the left is the ruthless, dogmatic senator Fred Van Acker-man (George Grizzard), who is willing to violate all the rules to make Leffi ngwell secretary of state. Leader of a national prodisarmament group, Van Ackerman is always surrounded by zombielike aides (Communist automatons?). Caught between them all is the Senate majority leader (Walter Pidgeon), an honorable man who only wishes to get his president the ratifi ca-tion he wants, even though he knows it will not be easy.

Van Ackerman wants to chair the subcommittee that will hold the hearing on Leffi ngwell’s nomination, but although he is the logical choice, he is rejected because his ambition has led him to violate the Senate’s unwritten rules of conduct. (“He doesn’t belong here,” the Senate leaders say. “No tact.”) They choose young Brig Anderson (Don Murray) to chair the hearings because “he knows how to be a senator.” Anderson seems perfect—he is clean- cut and polite, a mature and sophisticated version of Mr. Smith; he has a nice family, plays by the rules, and honors his elders, but he turns out to be a bit rigid. Senator Cooley dredges up evidence that Leffi ngwell was once a member of a Communist cell. When Leffi ngwell denies the associa-tion, Anderson, learning he has lied, turns against him despite pressure from the president and the majority leader, who understand that “we all make mistakes” in youth and that “everything isn’t black and white.” Anderson, the pure young idealist, plans to denounce Leffi ngwell until a mysterious caller threatens to expose Brig’s past homosexual affair unless he supports the confi rmation. Unable to cope with the truth about himself and unwilling to compromise his position on Leffi ngwell, Brig commits suicide. The Senate deliberations proceed, but as the vice president (Lew Ayres) prepares to cast the tie- breaking vote, the president dies and the issue becomes moot. It turns out that the evil Van Ackerman was behind the blackmail, and he is scorned by his fellow senators. “Fortunately this country is able to survive patriots like you,” the majority leader tells him. “We can tolerate about anything, but you’ve dishonored us.” Senator Cooley, however, is still in the club because he played by the rules.

Although it was made in 1962, Advise and Consent carries a 1950s message of consensus—characters that do not fi t in or will not play by the rules are destroyed. Like earlier movies, this one says that politics is a dirty business, but Advise and Consent is more interesting, sophisticated, and morally complex than its predecessors. The human side of politics is clear; the majority leader and the Senate regulars are good men who live by a code of honor, even if that code is morally ambiguous. Nobody is pure, not the president or the secretary of state or the clean- cut young senator, not the left or the right, yet some are well- intentioned and play the game with honor. Pidgeon’s majority leader and Ayres’s vice president give the fi lm moral weight because we like them and trust them. Advise and Consent also provides painless instruction on the way the political process works. The repartee between the majority leader and his mistress provides a distinctly grown- up perspective on politics, and the fi lmmakers also use a group of diplomats’ wives in the gallery to explain how the Senate operates.

The New York Times dismissed Advise and Consent as a cynical movie about dishonor-able men, including the president. 3 Critic Pauline Kael wrote it off as a “mindless ‘inside’

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story of Washington shenanigans” and an “overwrought melodrama,” 4 but other critics liked it, noting the accurate depiction of the workings of the Senate. As in many political fi lms, the melodrama was there for entertainment, but it turned out to be the weak point of the fi lm, while the political machinations and procedures were stronger. Still, they would not have been as interesting without the moral confl ict introduced by the melodrama.

Real- life politicians took a great interest in Advise and Consent . Although Martin Luther King refused an offer to play a senator, three real- life senators did appear in it, and President Kennedy entertained the fi lmmakers at the White House while the movie was being made. Some senators did not like the fi nal product, however. “I don’t think it will be wholesome for either our people or those abroad,” declared Strom Thurmond. 5 As usual, the real- life politicians overreacted. Advise and Consent not only gave a strong sense of how politics worked, but also insisted that most politicians were decent people. Mr. Anderson’s Washing-ton of 1962, however, was different from the city that Mr. Smith visited in 1939. Politics had become more complicated, and innocence was no longer allowed to triumph.

Advise and Consent also anticipated the vicious personality- focused politics of the 1990s, as did another political fi lm of the 1960s. Less melodramatic, The Best Man (1964) is sharper and more contemporary—and holds up better—thanks to Franklin Schaffner’s direction and Gore Vidal’s adaptation of his own play. The scene is a convention to select a presidential nominee, implicitly to succeed Lyndon Johnson, since the fi lm’s titles play over portraits of all the presidents through Johnson. Bill Russell (Henry Fonda again) is the intellectual former secretary of state, an Adlai Stevenson-style liberal and presumably the best man. His wife (Margaret Leighton), an independent and intellectual woman, rallies to his side, like Hepburn in State of the Union , setting aside marital problems for the greater cause. “Politics make strange bedfellows,” she wryly comments. Russell’s opponent, Joe Kantwell (Cliff Robertson), is a ruthless ideologue and true believer who combines the image of John Kennedy with the politics of Richard Nixon. Kantwell is scornfully dismissed for having built his career on the pursuit of “an imaginary Communist mafi a,” an indication of how much American and Hollywood politics had changed in just ten years.

The unscrupulous Kantwell threatens to reveal that Russell once had a nervous breakdown unless he withdraws from the race. Russell’s supporters urge him to retaliate by accusing Kantwell of being a homosexual. Russell is incredulous (“That ugly wife, those ugly chil-dren!”) and refuses to smear his opponent, insisting that he wants to win the nomination because of his stand on political issues. Small corruptions, he insists, destroy character. Rus-sell himself, however, has misled the public about his “happy” marriage, given speeches he has not read (“I’ll surprise myself”), and manipulated the press.

If Kantwell embodies the ruthless ideologue and Russell the conscientious liberal, ex- president Art Hockstadter represents political pragmatism. Lee Tracy was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for his portrayal of this Truman- like politician who declares that he does not personally care whether Kantwell “has carnal knowledge of a McCormick reaper,” but demands that Russell use whatever he has got against his oppo-nent. “Power is not a toy we give to children,” the ex- president explains. “It’s a weapon and a strong man uses it.” Disdaining Russell’s squeamishness, he asserts that “to want power is corruption already” and that “there are no ends” to justify means. It is normal to fool the people, Hockstadter warns Kantwell, but it is “serious when you start fooling yourself.” Hockstadter fails to persuade Kantwell to back down, however, and when Russell still will not fi ght back, Hockstadter refuses to support him. To stop Kantwell, Russell ultimately martyrs himself by withdrawing from competition and releasing his delegates with a request

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that they vote for a third candidate. “Men without faces tend to get elected president, and power or personal responsibility tends to fi ll in the features,” he assures us. These may be the best men, but the conclusion is subverted by the fi lm’s clear prejudice in favor of Russell/Fonda, the man who is too good for politics.

In an era of increasing interest in politics, The Best Man caught enough of the excitement of the game to engage mild public interest and win mixed reviews, although most critics pointed out that Russell/Fonda was altogether too scrupulous and that the fi lm’s ends/means morality was less than profound. 6 The State Department worried about the reaction of Soviet audiences to such a cynical portrait of American politics, but director Schaffner dismissed this concern, saying that the Soviets “don’t understand politics,” by which he presumably meant electoral politics, as in The Best Man. 7

Like Advise and Consent , The Best Man is an inside view of politics. Both fi lms play on its seaminess, featuring blackmail based, disturbingly, on homosexuality, but in both fi lms the political institutions fi nally work, and the process and the system triumph. Both fi lms also disparage ideologues and laud team players. And in both, Henry Fonda plays the good man with a tainted past who has to give up politics, although his character in The Best Man does so more decisively.

Like State of the Union (1948), The Best Man sets out the choice between personal integ-rity and political ambition and opts for integrity. Such martyrdom to idealism “is a central liberal dramatic tradition,” according to Richard Maltby, 8 but the choice would have been stronger if Russell’s stand on political issues had been clearer rather than simply “good” by implication and in comparison to the abhorrent politics of his opponents. The Best Man cynically rejects politics as dirty and hypocritical, thus reinforcing the Hollywood cliché. The Fonda character does not even trust the public enough to appeal to it, as a Capra hero would have done, and his aloofness gives the fi lm an overall tone of elitism and condescen-sion toward politics, perhaps refl ecting the attitude of its privileged author, Gore Vidal, who himself dropped out of politics after an unsuccessful congressional candidacy. This elitism is mitigated by the suspicion that perhaps Russell/Fonda is not the best man after all; he seems rather too good, too self- consciously superior. In the end, we are instructed that the probable nominee will live up to his position and all will be well, a reassuring conclusion that has been confi rmed by any number of real- life presidents.

Finally, it should be noted that these fi lms—and most others of the 1960s—carried on the male focus of political movies. Women continued to play supporting roles as wives, not even attaining the political stature of Jean Arthur’s aide in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. The decade’s movies did produce one woman president, although Kisses for My President (1964), a 1930s- style sex comedy, focused on “fi rst husband” Fred MacMurray. Homosexu-als fared even worse. The weakening of the Production Code made it possible for movies to feature homosexuality, but only as a seamy secret.

From Dr. No to Dr. Strangelove

These traditional Hollywood political fi lms contrast with a new genre of political fi lms that emerged in the 1960s, the political thriller. The political content of these fi lms was often high, although their intention was usually more to entertain than to educate. They neverthe-less refl ected the concerns of the times and shaped the public understanding of then- current issues.

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John Frankenheimer’s The Manchurian Candidate (1962) was one of the fi rst and most successful of these political thrillers. A brainwashed veteran of the Korean War (Laurence Harvey) is programmed to assassinate on command—but who is his intended victim? Mean-while, a gravel- voiced McCarthy type (James Gregory) rabble- rouses, declaring he has “lists” of Communists in government agencies, declaring that they number fi fty- seven when he glimpses the “57 Varieties” label on a bottle of Heinz ketchup. Linking the two men is the veteran’s mother, who is also the demagogue’s wife and mastermind (Angela Lansbury in the role of a very untraditional woman). A shocking conclusion reveals that the Communist agent who controls the programmed assassin is his mother. The right- wing demagogue turns out to be a front for subversion, a nice twist and one that was courageous in 1962. Frank-enheimer’s brilliant fi lm brought the cycle of anti- Communist movies to an end by adding complexity and confusion to everybody’s motives, simultaneously establishing the thriller as a major form for political movies.

Although the politics of the 1960s is remembered as liberal or even radical, one of the most durable movie symbols of the era is neither, but does refl ect the general fear of nuclear war and the Kennedy administration’s reliance on CIA intervention. James Bond is a Brit-ish secret agent created by novelist Ian Fleming, whose books President Kennedy enjoyed. The fi rst Bond movie, Dr. No (1962), was such a hit that a dozen more followed, with Sean Connery and later other actors playing the suave spy. The political content of these fi lms is simplistic at best, but it suited the political mood of the nation. Film scholar Joan Mellen declares the Bond movies “the key image of the decade,” refl ecting the “macho politics” of the Kennedy era, 9 as superspy Bond foils villainous plots for world domination or destruc-tion. To some extent, the Bond movies were a vestige of the Cold War, but their view is somewhat more complex in that the Soviet Union is not always the enemy. More often, the menace is an evil genius like Dr. No who plays the superpowers off against each other, thus expressing the public’s fear that something might go wrong in the delicate balance of power and bring apocalypse. The solution in these fi lms is always provided by the superhero. All we had to do, they suggested, was let the CIA or the British secret service take care of busi-ness, a notion that was shared by the Kennedy administration with its penchant for brisk and brutal intervention by the CIA or Special Forces and international brinkmanship. Some real- life CIA plots, like the attempted assassination of Cuban premier Fidel Castro, went even further than the Bond movies, in which action is mostly defensive rather than offensive.

The Bond fi lms and many copycat movies were spoofs that toyed with international disas-ter, but other motion pictures of the era took the subject seriously, suggesting that worldwide disaster might come not from evil enemies but from within. Some even suggested that the fi nal holocaust could result from an accident. These were the movies that most clearly brought Hollywood into the politics of the 1960s.

The fi rst, Seven Days in May (1964), was a thriller written by Rod Serling, best known today for his Twilight Zone TV series, and directed by John Frankenheimer. In this movie, a wise, liberal president (Fredric March) signs a nuclear nonproliferation treaty with the Soviet Union, but a group of right- wing generals, led by Burt Lancaster, plots a coup. A jun-ior offi cer (Kirk Douglas) loyal to the president reveals the conspiracy. At fi rst incredulous, the president eventually acts to entrap the treacherous generals and denounce them to the nation in a televised press conference. With the help of the loyal offi cer, his cynical White House staff, and, presumably, the television- viewing public, the president foils the coup. The twist in Serling and Frankenheimer’s thriller is the way they turn American paranoia

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inside out, suggesting that the threat could come from within and from the right. They also suggest a political role for the public through the president’s televised appeal, an unusual message in American political fi lms other than those of Frank Capra. Seven Days in May did well at the box offi ce and was praised by most critics. Arthur Knight was excited to see Hollywood, “the sleeping giant . . . waking up again” and dealing with contemporary issues after the escapism of the 1950s. 10 But despite its reassuring message that the system worked, politicians worried about the impression Seven Days in May would give abroad, demanding that the export version be clearly labeled “fi ctional,” lest “ignorant foreigners” think such right- wing coups were possible in the United States. 11

In Fail Safe (1964), directed by Sidney Lumet and written by the formerly blacklisted Walter Bernstein, the threat results from a technological accident: an American bomber heads for Moscow because of a mechanical glitch. As in Seven Days in May , however, levelheaded men solve the problem. The president, reassuringly played by Henry Fonda, negotiates his way out of the mess, fi nally ordering U.S. planes to bomb New York City to assure the Russians of fair play and to avoid wider destruction. Rational men capable of thinking the unthinkable—as strategists of nuclear war were doing at the time— somehow made even the sacrifi ce of New York seem necessary. Some critics praised Fail Safe for showing how “intelligent men trying to use their wits and their techniques correct an error,” 12 but others thought the movie was platitudinous, and it stirred little enthusiasm at the box offi ce. Fail Safe also suffered from comparison to another, more devastating fi lm about nuclear war that made all other movies on the subject seem naive.

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964), directed and coauthored by Stanley Kubrick, was a critical and box offi ce hit even though it pro-claimed that the world had gone mad and was bound for destruction. Strangelove opens with an ironically lyrical scene of a bomber being refueled in midair, perhaps an allusion to a similar scene in Strategic Air Command (1955), but this time “Try a Little Tenderness” is the musical accompaniment and the tone is satirical, providing a suitable prologue to Kubrick’s scathing movie. During a simple military exercise, a fl eet of American bombers is sent toward the Soviet Union, but some of the bombers do not respond to a command to return to base. It turns out that an insane Air Force general (Sterling Hayden) has initiated a real attack on the Soviet Union. He hopes to force the president (Peter Sellers) to pro-ceed with the assault rather than suffer Soviet retaliation. The president orders the general to send the coded call- back orders to the planes, but he refuses. The president sends the army to seize the general’s base, but the general tells his men they are under attack by subversives in American uniforms. While the battle at the base goes on, the bombers get closer and closer to their target and the president summons his cabinet to the war room. As the tension builds, Kubrick cuts between the base, the president in the war room, and a bomber commanded by Major Kong (Slim Pickens).

One of the generals in the war room (George C. Scott) advises an all- out preemptive attack, but the president calls the Soviet ambassador to the war room instead and uses the hotline to warn the Russian premier, who says that a secret doomsday device will destroy the entire world if the Soviet Union is attacked. Confronted with apocalypse, the two lead-ers cooperate in shooting down the American bombers—all except the one piloted by Major Kong. Damaged in the attack, Kong’s plane fl ies too low for radar detection and proceeds to its target to the tune of “When Johnny Comes Marching Home.” Meanwhile, Dr. Stran-gelove (Peter Sellers in another role) arrives in the war room. Speaking in a heavy German

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accent and giving Nazi salutes with a gloved hand he cannot control, Strangelove advises the president and cabinet on survival after the holocaust, raving about life in caves and mines, drooling over his planned male– female ratio, and referring to the president as “Mein Fuehrer” in a caricature of German expatriates who had become American defense experts. Major Kong’s B- 52 gets through, however, and the fi lm ends in lyrical shots of mushroom clouds accompanied by “We’ll Meet Again,” the sentimental World War II song.

Dr. Strangelove is relentlessly cynical and satirical with no completely sympathetic char-acters. Scientists and the military take the toughest beating. Science is represented by the mad Nazi, Dr. Strangelove, and the military is embodied by the generals played by Scott (“war is too important to be left to politicians”) and Hayden, a lunatic who is convinced that everybody is after his “precious bodily fl uids.” Major Kong, the ingenious cowboy pilot, would have been the hero in any conventional movie, but cheering for him in this movie would mean rooting for apocalypse. Strangelove does not even offer a reasonable liberal as hero. The president is well meaning but ineffectual. So is his military counterpart, a visiting British offi cer (Peter Sellers again) attempting to stop the insane general. Liberal faith in good men—even a rational president willing to communicate with the Soviets—is dismissed as derisively as is conservative faith in the military. And Strangelove attacks technology as well as human folly and fallibility. Slick machines, without hearts or minds, go out of control in the hands of insane, careless, or incompetent humans. The U.S. Air Force denied that such accidents could happen, but Terry Southern, one of the fi lm’s authors, declared that its intent was “to blast smugness . . . over a foolproof system which may not be.” 13

Most disturbingly, Strangelove issues a warning without offering any hope of salvation. Seven Days in May and Fail Safe also condemned the military and expressed concern about the safety of technology, but they offered human heroes and a political system that worked. Strangelove ’s condemnation is more sweeping and offers no hope at all. “It is not war that has been laughed to scorn,” critic Pauline Kael wrote, “but the possibility of sane action.” 14 The Washington Post reviewer worried that “no communist could dream of a more effec-tive anti- American fi lm to spread abroad than this one.” 15 However, critics conceded the brilliance of the fi lm, and its skillful combination of comedy and politics made it a popular hit. Strangelove won Academy Award nominations (but no Oscars) for best picture, direc-tor, writers, and actor (Sellers), the fi rst political fi lm to gain such approval since the 1940s.

Not since the sci- fi fi lms of the 1950s had the consequences of nuclear technology been so directly addressed. Strangelove , Fail Safe , Seven Days in May , and, earlier, On the Beach played to and expressed public concern about nuclear war and kept the subject on the nation’s agenda. They helped shape a generation’s attitudes, and they may have contributed to Lyndon B. Johnson’s electoral victory in 1964. Johnson presented himself as the “peace candidate,” whereas his right- wing Republican opponent, Barry Goldwater, an offi cer in the U.S. Air Force Reserve, was portrayed as a warmonger and virtual Strangelove.

Even as America worried about nuclear war, it moved toward détente, and so did Holly-wood. Fail Safe suggested we could negotiate with the Russians, while Strangelove sent up the hotline and satirized the Soviets as viciously as it did our own leaders, but both movies helped to modify the old 1950s image of evil Communists, as did other fi lms of the 1960s. Doctor Zhivago (1965), for example, was a romantic tale of the Russian Revolution in which all Communists were Stalinist villains, but the eponymous hero (Omar Sharif) remained resolutely sympathetic with the revolution. Meanwhile, a contemporary comedy, The Rus-sians Are Coming! The Russians Are Coming! (1966), delivered a message of reconciliation.

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A Soviet submarine runs aground in New England and its crew members are perceived as invaders by wacky villagers. “I do not wish to hate anybody,” says the handsome Russian (John Phillip Law) to the pretty American (Eva Marie Saint). “It doesn’t make sense to hate people,” she agrees.

John Wayne’s War

Although the war in Vietnam loomed large in the consciousness and politics of the nation by the late 1960s, Hollywood avoided the subject. The Quiet American (1958) and The Ugly American (1963) anticipated the Vietnam quagmire and Brian De Palma’s Greetings (1968) was an antiestablishment comedy about draft dodging. But most fi lmmakers avoided Vietnam, because war fi lms had rarely been commercially successful and because public opinion on the war was deeply divided. Taking a position on a phenomenon still in progress is particularly risky because events may alter both the outcome and public attitudes about it. Besides, television news of the war satisfi ed the curiosity of most people and made fi ctional treatments look silly. As a consequence, Vietnam did not get to Hollywood until the war was over—except in one movie, The Green Berets (1968).

John Wayne got to the Vietnamese battlefi eld a decade ahead of other fi lmmakers when he codirected an old- fashioned, patriotic pro- war fi lm that could just as well have been about World War II. The Green Berets begins with an army offi cer’s didactic lecture to trainees who are about to don the famous berets of the Special Forces. Another offi cer (Aldo Ray) explains that the Chinese and Russians are already involved in the confl ict, but a visiting liberal jour-nalist (David Janssen) asks skeptical questions. Their instructive exchanges occupy most of the fi rst third of the movie. When the scene shifts to Vietnam, every trite convention of the old war movies is dragged out, including orphans, mascots, painful efforts at comedy, and a scavenger (Jim Hutton). But this middle third of the movie is even more like one of Wayne’s westerns, with the Vietcong attacking the Green Beret base like Indians laying siege to a fron-tier fort. Portrayed as yellow savages, they strip white bodies and brutalize villagers, although a sympathetic South Vietnamese (George Takei) functions as the “good Indian.” The liberal reporter, converted by all this, denounces his biased publisher and proposes to quit his job to join the army’s public relations team, but the Green Beret commander (John Wayne) insists that the reporter has a higher duty: he must keep his job and take the truth to the American people. The fi nal third of the movie is a Mission Impossible -style caper, with a team of Green Beret guerrillas infi ltrating enemy territory to beat the Vietcong at their own game. “You’re what this is all about,” Wayne tells the Vietnamese orphan- mascot as the movie ends with the sun setting over the ocean—in the east (from their perspective in Vietnam).

The Green Berets is a long, cliché- ridden lecture in defense of the war. It is the sort of movie in which you know, as soon as you are introduced to them, which supporting actors will die and in which even the violence is reassuringly old- fashioned. The box offi ce pull of John Wayne and his fi lm’s cozy invocation of tradition were enough to generate a profi t for the fi lm despite bad reviews and the protests of antiwar activists. Wayne was suffi ciently politically committed that he may not have cared as much about profi ts as about the mes-sage, however, which could account for the most transparently propagandistic American movie since the pro- Russian fi lms of the 1940s. At any rate, the message was too late to matter, coming just as the Tet offensive showed the strength of the North Vietnamese. Public opinion turned against the war, and Lyndon Johnson decided not to run for reelection.

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The Coming of the Counterculture

Social change was in the wind in America in the 1960s—and in the movies of the era. Besides concerns about nuclear holocaust and wars in foreign lands, racism and an emerging counterculture became popular subjects for fi lmmakers.

With a few honorable exceptions, fi lmmakers had avoided the subjects of race and racism since The Birth of a Nation , but the civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s and the black pride movement that followed helped get these subjects back in the mov-ies. Liberal fi lmmakers like Stanley Kramer made movies like Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967), calling for tolerance. The star- power of Sidney Poitier helped to make movies with racial themes profi table, from The Defi ant Ones (1958) to In the Heat of the Night (1967). Star Harry Belafonte, later known for his political activism, also succeeded in race- themed fi lms like Island in the Sun (1957), The World, The Flesh and the Devil (1959), and Odds Against Tomorrow (1959). (The two men even starred together with African- American actress Ruby Dee in Buck and The Preacher (1970), about the exploi-tation of freed slaves who have migrated out west.) By the 1970s, black fi lmmakers were making movies like Cotton Comes to Harlem (1970) with all- black casts—a huge advance in the treatment of race on fi lm from The Birth of a Nation or even Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner . These fi lms and the evolving portrait of race in American movies are discussed in detail in Chapter 13 .

Native Americans were also treated better in the fi lms of the 1960s, although 1950s fi lms such as Broken Arrow had started the trend. Director John Ford made up for his past portraits of bloodthirsty savages with Cheyenne Autumn (1964). Far more radically, blacklist victim Abraham Polonsky suggested in Tell Them Willie Boy Is Here (1969) that Indians and other minorities should go their own separatist way, trusting no one, least of all white liberals. The fi lm centers on a manhunt with a sheriff (Robert Redford) chasing an American Indian who is wanted for a killing. An impending presidential visit turns a posse and the press into a frenzied mob. The white liberal schoolmarm, who would have brought reconciliation in earlier fi lms, is shown here to be silly, ineffectual, and condescending in her wish to care for the Indians. Little Big Man and Soldier Blue (both 1970) continued the revision of American history by interpreting the fate of the Indians as genocide; both fi lms also alluded to the American involvement in Vietnam.

These fi lms about race refl ected and contributed to the emergence of a youthful counter-culture in America and elsewhere. With roots in the beatniks of the 1950s and the student protests of the 1960s, as well as the civil rights and antiwar movements, the counterculture was an antimaterialist, youth- oriented phenomenon that expressed itself politically as the New Left and socially as the fl ower children, or hippies.

The fi rst movie to catch the spirit of this counterculture may have been Bonnie and Clyde (1967), a box offi ce success that was denounced by some critics for romanticizing violence. Based on the exploits of two real- life Depression criminals, the fi lm follows two young peo-ple (Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty) as they drift into crime, partly as an act of rebellion against their elders. At one point, Bonnie and Clyde are welcomed as heroes in a migrant camp reminiscent of the one in The Grapes of Wrath , but overall, this movie is socially refl ective rather than explicitly political. Many saw it as an allegory of youthful disaffection and rebellion against authority in the 1960s. The Graduate (1967), a big box offi ce and criti-cal hit directed by Mike Nichols, played on the same theme.

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Wild in the Streets (1968) took the generational confl ict one step further in the tale of a rock star who uses his popularity to gain political power as young people take over the coun-try. The voting age and then the age for offi ce- holding are reduced to fourteen. Adults are sent to “retirement” camps. In the end, yet another youth coup is plotted as seven- year- olds prepare to rebel against their teenage elders. Wild in the Streets managed to simultaneously exploit and send up the youth culture, which was already turning sour.

In Easy Rider (1969), the counterculture’s biggest box offi ce hit, two hippies (Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda) judge the state of the nation during a motorcycle odyssey enhanced by drugs. Fonda’s character, portrayed in saintly fashion, bestows approval on people who live freely and independently, but admits in the end that he and his friend, if not his genera-tion and the country, have failed: “We blew it.” Although Easy Rider criticizes conformity, materialism, and authority, it is less political than it seemed at the time. Its most revolution-ary effect in 1969 was to demonstrate to the big studios that an independent production and a fi lm about the counterculture could make money.

By 1968 the counterculture was falling apart. It was becoming clear that drugs led to addiction instead of liberation. The Manson family made communes a nightmare. Martin Luther King Jr. was murdered, and the civil rights movement was fragmented by calls for black power and cultural separatism. The hopefulness of the antiwar movement was shat-tered by the assassination of Robert Kennedy and riots at the 1968 Democratic convention in Chicago. Richard Nixon was elected president.

Perhaps the fi lm that best summed up counterculture politics and its demise was Medium Cool (1969), a low- budget, independent production directed by left- leaning cinematogra-pher Haskell Wexler. A TV news crew fi lms an auto accident as the movie begins. Only after they have shot their footage do they call for help for the victims, establishing one of Wexler’s themes, the exploitative nature of the media. John (Robert Forster), the cam-eraman, senses the coldness of his work and feels alienated both from it and his playboy lifestyle. After fi lming a passionate group of black militants, he quits his job when he learns that his station is turning over his footage to law- enforcement offi cers. Meanwhile, appar-ently longing for a traditional family relationship, he gets involved with an Appalachian woman and her son. The boy disappears, and the couple searches for him on the violent streets of Chicago during the 1968 Democratic convention.

Wexler set his fi lm in Chicago so the story could be played out with the convention as a backdrop: the street confl ict in the fi lm is real- life footage. Wexler, a known radical, and his crew were hassled by police during the making of the movie, but the footage they got makes a remarkable blend of fact and fi ction, successfully heightening the tension of the fi lm as we hear one of his crew shouting, “Watch out, Haskell. This is for real!” It was real enough that the Department of Justice requisitioned Wexler’s footage during its investigation of the riots. Medium Cool ends somewhat gratuitously in an auto crash, with the camera pulling back to reveal Wexler and his crew fi lming the wreck, a self- conscious application of his point about the disengagement of the media. This disengagement, or failure to connect, is the central point of Medium Cool , not black militancy, street riots, or convention politics, all of which operate in the fi lm only as background details. Wexler was saying that traditional politics had failed and there was no salvation for his protagonists.

The critics were divided about Medium Cool. Some gave it raves (“technically brilliant,” “a kind of cinematic Guernica ”) but others dismissed it (“awkward and even pretentious . . .

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a slashing indictment of car driving”). 16 Audiences made Medium Cool a box offi ce success, however. Its immediacy pulled them in, compensating for its virtually nonexistent plot with the sheer intensity of the moment, and its sense of outrage and alienation was perfectly in tune with the mood of 1969. Many people considered Medium Cool the only truly contem-porary fi lm of the era.

The success of Easy Rider and Medium Cool sparked the interest of the studios, which tried to cash in on the counterculture in 1970 with movies about student protest, including The Strawberry Statement (1970) and Getting Straight (1970). Other fi lms addressed the antiwar sympathies of the era. Franklin Schaffner’s highly entertaining Planet of the Apes (1968) and its sequels depicted life on earth after a nuclear holocaust, with apes ruling and human beings reduced to slaves. Patton (1969), written by Francis Ford Coppola and also directed by Schaffner, presented the World War II general as a sort of mad genius, useful in war but in need of containment by calmer superiors. M*A*S*H (1970), directed by Robert Altman, and Catch- 22 (1970), directed by Mike Nichols from Joseph Heller’s novel, both made vicious fun of the military, while Johnny Got His Gun (1971), written and directed by blacklist victim Dalton Trumbo, delivered a more serious antiwar message about a paraple-gic veteran of World War I. Trumbo’s fi lm was the least popular of these. Audiences were prepared to laugh cynically at war but not to examine its consequences too closely.

Besides these fi lms, Joe (1970), about a bigoted blue- collar worker who is both attracted and repelled by the counterculture, and WUSA (1970), about a right- wing radio station, dealt with fascism in contemporary America. Jane Fonda, Peter Boyle, and Donald Sutherland made Steelyard Blues (1972), an antiauthoritarian comedy about a group of 1960s rebels. And a French fi lm about political assassination in Greece, Z (1968), directed by Constantin Costa- Gavras, won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film and ranked fi fth in box offi ce receipts for 1970.

Notes

1 . Kenneth W. Munden, Subject Index to Films of the 1960s (New York: Bowker, 1971). 2 . Time , December 28, 1959. 3 . New York Times , June 7, 1962. 4 . Pauline Kael, 5001 Nights at the Movies (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1982), p. 6. 5 . Time , March 30, 1962. 6 . Time , April 10, 1964; Saturday Review , April 4, 1964. 7 . Quoted in Variety , September 15, 1964. 8 . Richard Maltby, Harmless Entertainment: Hollywood and the Ideology of Consensus (London:

Scarecrow, 1983), p. 306. 9 . Joan Mellen, Big Bad Wolves (New York: Pantheon, 1977), pp. 249, 251. 10 . Saturday Review , February 14, 1964. 11 . Quoted in Variety , May 13, 1964. 12 . New York Times , September 16, 1964. 13 . Lawrence Suid, “The Pentagon and Hollywood,” in American History/American Film , ed. John

E. O’Connor and Martin A. Jackson (New York: Frederick Unger, 1979), p. 368. 14 . Pauline Kael, Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang (New York: Bantam, 1969), p. 79. 15 . Quoted in Mason Wiley and Damien Bona, Inside Oscar (New York: Ballantine Books, 1986),

p. 368. 16 . New York Times , August 31, 1968; The New Yorker , September 13, 1969.

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The 1970s Cynicism, Paranoia, War, and Anticapitalism

All the President’s Men (1976)

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The 1970s started with President Nixon’s invasion of Cambodia and the most widespread antiwar demonstrations of the era. Despite the unpopularity of the war, Nixon enjoyed a landslide reelection victory in 1972—only to face the protracted agony of the Watergate scandal. His 1973 resignation put the uninspired Gerald Ford into the White House and began an era of almost total disillusionment with politics. The political activism of the 1960s gave way to what Tom Wolfe labeled the “Me Decade.” 1 Self- interest and political apathy replaced involvement.

As a disillusioned nation celebrated its bicentennial, voters rejected Washington insider Ford and elected Jimmy Carter, a peanut farmer and moderate Democrat. President Carter’s modesty appealed to the voters, but not enough to prevent his defeat by conservative Repub-lican Ronald Reagan in 1980. In short, the 1970s took America from Nixon and Cambodia to Ford, Carter, and a prolonged hostage crisis in Iran, concluding with a genuine Hollywood actor in the White House. Few decades have seen so much change, and the fi lms of the era refl ect its turbulence.

The fi lm industry also experienced huge changes in the 1970s, as the big studios declined and independent fi lmmakers gained clout. The studios suffered record losses between 1969 and 1972. A substantial number of political fi lms were released during this time, but they were not suffi ciently linked with fi nancial losses to discourage further productions. Some, like Che! (1969), an awful fi lm about the Cuban revolutionary, lost money. Others— including Easy Rider (1969), Medium Cool (1969), and Z (1969)—were suffi ciently profi table to make the studios take notice, while big productions like Hello, Dolly! (1969) lost more money than most of the political fi lms cost, so the studios were not totally discouraged and independent fi lmmakers were positively encouraged.

Most other movies of the 1970s, however, expressed no worries at all about politics. This was the time of the new blockbusters and a new generation of fi lmmakers like Francis Ford Coppola, Steven Spielberg, and George Lucas. They learned fi lmmaking in universi-ties rather than in studios, they were committed to entertaining, and they seemed content to express themselves within traditional genres. These young men and others thrived in a Hollywood where producing a movie depended less on studios than on packaging a deal and putting together investors. They had spectacular early successes that gave them enormous freedom on later projects. Some say they saved the industry.

Coppola’s Godfather (1972 and 1974) successes were the beginning, but Spielberg’s Jaws (1975) was the fi rst real blockbuster, shooting to the top of Variety ’s chart of “Box Offi ce Champions.” Although it was primarily a horror fi lm, Jaws commented briefl y on politics when the mayor of the shark- threatened resort forces the police chief to keep the beaches open so business will not suffer. Spielberg went on to make Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), and E.T. (1982), all of which contained only minimal explicit political comment. Lucas started with American Graffi ti (1973) and then went on to make Star Wars (1977) and its equally successful sequels.

The lack of political content in all these fi lms was seen by some critics as a sort of con-servatism, as was their reliance on individual heroes. One radical fi lm journal even went so far as to condemn Star Wars as a fascist, militaristic movie because of its hierarchies of sex, race, class, and species, complaining that only the humans, not the Wookies or the robots, got medals for their heroism. 2 Still, Lucas’s humans did at least take action to overthrow the “evil empire” (a phrase later used by President Reagan).

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These movies were only mildly and probably unintentionally conservative, however, in comparison with other fi lms of the time. Clint Eastwood played a cop in Dirty Harry (1971) and its sequels, all of which violently condemn permissiveness and liberalism. Charles Bronson got a vigilante’s revenge on urban criminals in Death Wish (1974). In movies of this sort, danger and injustice were all around, often in the form of menacing minorities or poor people, but government was tied up by bleeding- heart regulations, so the only solution was to go beyond the law. Meanwhile, horror movies made a comeback, often as slashers, playing on fear and isolation. Disaster movies also fed paranoia, although sometimes in these fi lms people worked together to rise above a crisis and save themselves. On a slightly more positive note, Sylvester Stallone’s Rocky (1976) updated the American dream of the average guy winning out, a theme Stallone would reiterate with astounding success in seem-ingly endless sequels.

Meanwhile, audiences were also changing. By 1976, 76 percent of fi lmgoers were under the age of thirty, a fi gure that has declined only slightly since then. The number of theat-ers shrank to 13,500, although multiscreen complexes would soon bring the number up again. The good news for Hollywood was that weekly attendance was creeping up, reaching 18.4 million in 1976 after having bottomed out at 17.7 million in 1970. Film production also increased in 1976, with 353 fi lms released, the most since 1950. The most lasting impact, however, was to be the persistent preponderance of young people in audiences, people who were far more interested in entertainment than in serious analytical or political fi lms.

Mr. Redford Goes to Washington

While the output of political fi lms at the end of the 1960s and the beginning of the 1970s was high, Hollywood’s approach to politics remained cautious except in the hands of inde-pendents like Haskell Wexler and Europeans like Costa- Gavras. Many of the fi lms of this highly political era dealt delicately or indirectly with contemporary issues. Antiwar movies, for example, were set during wars other than the one in which the country was then engaged. Virtually no movies dealt directly with the political process except The Man (1972), fea-turing James Earl Jones as America’s fi rst black president. The Man was a 1960s- style political melodrama, but 1972 also brought another fi lm with a more contemporary political perspective.

Robert Redford was the star, producer, and prime mover in The Candidate (1972), the fi rst and best fi lm of the 1970s to deal with political campaigns and a classic example of a high content/high intent political fi lm. Although The Candidate uncannily anticipated the career of California governor Edmund G. “Jerry” Brown, writer Jeremy Larner and direc-tor Michael Ritchie based it on their experiences in the 1970 campaign of John Tunney, a Kennedyesque senator from California. Several incidents in the fi lm were drawn from the Tunney campaign, and the senator was allowed to okay the script “so it wouldn’t be a knife job on him,” according to Ritchie. 3

The Candidate begins on election night in an unnamed state as a losing candidate addresses his supporters. His manager, Marvin Lucas (Peter Boyle), is already on his way to another campaign, showing a colleague a photo of young Bill McKay (Robert Redford) in Time magazine. Lucas is warned that McKay could not possibly beat Crocker Jarmon (Don Porter), the powerful incumbent senator from California, but he nevertheless visits McKay

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in his ramshackle poverty law offi ce. From McKay’s talk to his staff, we learn of the good causes the handsome son of a former governor works on, but he tells Lucas that he is happy with what he is doing and not interested in politics.

“You’re happy?” Lucas asks. “Okay. Clams are happy. You saved some trees, you got a clinic opened. Does that make you feel good? Meanwhile, Jarmon sits on his committees and carves up the land, the oil, the taxes.” Tempted, McKay asks “What’s in it” for Lucas, the professional manager, who murmurs something about “an air card, a phone card, a thousand dollars a week.” It is only a job to him, he says, but he appeals to McKay, the crusader, by offering him a forum for his causes and by promising him that he will lose the election.

In the beginning, the campaign is forthright and issue- oriented as McKay bluntly answers questions on controversial issues like abortion and busing at his fi rst press conference. “Jesus!” a reporter exclaims. “That’s a fi rst,” another declares as McKay admits he does not know enough to answer a question. But when he says he would fi re the Board of Regents of the University of California only to be told that senators do not have that power, McKay begins to recognize his need to be briefed on issues, and he grows more dependent on his manager and staff.

Lucas takes the candidate to a media consultant who is enthusiastic about McKay’s youth and virility as contrasted with the age and weariness of his opponent. The voters, he says, will look at Jarmon and think “the Crock . . . can’t get it up anymore.” So the media pack-aging begins, fi rst with a haircut, then with new suits and ties, and fi nally with carefully fi lmed and edited television ads. In the fi rst ads, McKay talks about issues, but when he sees the results, he realizes that issues do not work in commercials, and so do we. The edited,

In The Candidate (1972), political novice Bill McKay (Robert Redford) takes on an establishment politician, Senator Crocker Jarmon (Don Porter). As McKay trades in his outsider, “tell it like it is” persona for a more predictable, anodyne candidacy, this shot captures his blurring into the persona of the vapid Jarmon.

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music- backed ads are much better. “You’re showing your face,” the media man explains. “That’s what we have to sell fi rst.” McKay keeps trying to talk about the issues as he is fi lmed meeting people, but the results are incoherent. “Maybe we can use a line or two out of context,” sighs the consultant.

Nobody else wants to run against Jarmon, and McKay wins his party primary easily, but then, manipulated by the professional manager and his opinion polls, he begins to want to win the election. “You’re only reaching the people who agree with you already,” Lucas says; “you’re gonna lose.” “But I’m supposed to lose,” the candidate replies. “Yeah,” says the manager, “but if you keep going this way, you won’t only lose, you’ll be humiliated, and so will your ideas.” We can see that McKay is being manipulated, but we are seduced along with him.

The Candidate deftly introduces the power of the media with footage of McKay at a big banquet with real- life political leaders. As our candidate rises to give his maiden speech, however, the TV lights are switched off and a voice in the background says, “Okay, we got all we need.” Later, McKay tries to get some free coverage, changing his schedule to rush to a forest fi re in Malibu. “It’s perfect,” his breathless staff says, showing no concern about the disaster. When he gets there, McKay begins talking about environmental policy, but he is interrupted when his powerful opponent arrives by helicopter and the press dashes away to question him. Jarmon makes the power of incumbency clear with the reminder that he chairs a Senate committee and has a direct line to the president. He promises to act immediately as McKay smiles ruefully.

As the campaign grows more desperate, McKay is persuaded to swallow his pride and solicit the support of his father, the ex- governor, whose politics disgust him. “Did you really run your own [campaign]?” the son asks the father (Melvyn Douglas) as they walk in the woods, groping for reconciliation. “Shit, yes,” the old man says. “What’s it like to campaign in this state these days?” “I wouldn’t know,” his son answers. Chastised by his staff and demoralized after losing a debate with Jarmon, he is encouraged when his father arrives to endorse him. “Son,” the old man says, “you’re a politician”—the ultimate insult to young McKay. Still thinking about the debate, the candidate wonders “if anyone understood what I was trying to do.” “Don’t worry, son,” his father says, not very reassuringly. “It won’t make any difference.”

Eventually, the campaign completely swallows the candidate. He follows directions, not knowing where he is or what he is doing, and he has little real contact with people. His campaign staff has grown so large that he does not know them all. Groupies in search of autographs and sex treat him like a star, while strangers slug him or harangue him, even in toilets. He seldom argues with his aides, and when he does, he loses. He becomes an automaton, doing whatever they tell him. “I don’t know what her name is, but she’s sending a check,” he reports after carrying out an order to phone a contributor.

McKay’s campaign fi nally gains momentum and gels, however. At a meeting with the leader of the teamsters’ union, McKay the former activist reemerges as he condemns the union for what it has done to the farmworkers, but the leader endorses him anyway, and at a rally of the union members McKay gives the speech that ignites the campaign. “There has to be a better way,” he cries. In rhythmic references to the division between black and white, old and young, rich and poor, he demands change without being specifi c. It is a media speech, but it works. The upturn is accompanied by a stirring musical crescendo—the same music that underscores Crocker Jarmon’s moving, patriotic speeches. The two candidates

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have become alike. The campaign rushes on, full of incidents that illustrate the humor, cynicism, intensity, and excitement of politics as well as its techniques, from advertising to getting out the vote. McKay is stunned, however, when he wins. “What do we do now?” he asks his manager, but before he gets the answer, he is swept away by cheering supporters. The door closes, and the camera lingers on an empty room.

The Candidate did not set box offi ces afi re, but it turned a profi t and advanced the careers of Robert Redford, Michael Ritchie, and Jeremy Larner, who won an Oscar for his script. Most reviewers liked the fi lm, although Andrew Sarris denounced its “winning is losing puerilities.” 4 Vincent Canby agreed, commenting on its “perverse and puritanical” view of politics while conceding that The Candidate was “one of the few truly funny American political comedies ever made” and praising its style for being “as nervous and frenetic as the campaign itself.” 5 Even politicians were impressed with The Candidate . California’s Jerry Brown allegedly wanted to buy advertising time for his campaign during its television broadcast, but was dissuaded by his staff, who thought the public would misunderstand. Brown and others liked the movie’s humor and appreciated its depiction of campaign tech-niques and the seductive power of politics.

From advertising to winning endorsements and cajoling key groups, The Candidate is a veritable campaign primer, defi cient only in its treatment of fund- raising. This movie catches the spirit of a campaign and the way it sweeps away the candidate and everybody around him. We watch McKay sell out, but we cheer him on because we want him to win. We laugh at the cynicism of the campaigners and of the “now what?” ending, but the cynicism is softened by the casting of Robert Redford as the candidate. He may be naive, but he means well, and in the end, we still like him, which makes it easier for us to understand how decent people get drawn into the political process and forget their good intentions.

“What do we do now?” asked McKay when he won the election. In 1979, The Seduction of Joe Tynan answered his question. Alan Alda, who wrote the script, is Senator Joe Tynan, a good New York liberal. The fi lm lets us know this with an opening montage featuring a busload of black kids and an array of Washington monuments right out of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington . We next see Tynan alone in the Senate speaking about hunger, a scene that tells us he cares while others do not. At home that night, he romps in bed with his wife, Ellie ( Barbara Harris), gleefully celebrating his success: “I got the works bill passed! I’ve got clout!”

The realities of politics are introduced in the next scene, when Senator Birney (Melvyn Douglas), a conservative from Louisiana, asks a favor of Tynan. The president has nomi-nated a racist from Birney’s state to fi ll a vacancy on the Supreme Court, and the Senate must now approve the nominee. Birney wants the nomination approved so as to eliminate the man as a potential opponent. “Vote against him if you like,” he says; “just don’t start a crusade.” Tynan agrees as a personal favor to his elder, and we support this mild compromise because, thanks to the fi ne acting of Melvyn Douglas, we share Tynan’s sympathy for the old man.

Joe next meets Karen Traynor (Meryl Streep), a southern labor lawyer, counsel for a black group, and daughter of a powerful politician. Wanting Joe to lead the opposition to the judi-cial nomination, Karen seduces him into it with an enticing description of what this move could mean to his career. All he has to do is use some fi lm footage of the nominee making a racist speech. “When I think of the splash you could make with this piece of fi lm, I get weak in the knees,” she gushes, quickly adding “of course it’s the right thing to do.” The seduction is soon sexual as well as political.

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They succeed in blocking the nomination and the media report a victory for Joe Tynan. His staff prepares to press his advantage, hiring a speech and video coach to polish up his act, planning visits to newspaper editorial boards, and preparing a direct mail campaign. By this time Joe and Karen have gone their separate ways, but Joe’s wife is increasingly repelled by her husband’s unrelenting absorption in politics, or perhaps she just feels left out. “When were you going to tell me you were running for president?” she asks. “At the inaugural ball?” But for the moment, Joe is only positioning himself for a candidacy, angling to give a crucial speech at a party convention. He attains this modest goal, but Ellie seems about to leave him even as the convention crowd chants, “We want Joe!” He gazes at Ellie from the convention podium. Her mouth quivers. Is it a smile? Will she stay? The ending is ambigu-ous, but most viewers think she will.

Karen seduces Joe sexually, but also she plays on his ego and ambition, thus seducing him with the prospect of success as well. Joe is not a victim, however. He is an active and enthusiastic participant in both seductions, and he has few qualms about breaking his word to Senator Birney and destroying a nice old man. The treachery of the hero is mitigated, of course, by the racism of the judicial nominee and by the senility of the old man. Besides, we like Tynan/Alda.

The Seduction of Joe Tynan raises the issues of compromise and ambition and makes audiences understand Tynan’s position and even feel sympathy for him. Joe’s future remains unclear, however. “After a while,” warns a colleague who has decided not to run for another term, “you forget why you’re here. You just try to hang on to clout.” Joe will not walk away from politics like his honorable colleague or like the candidates in State of the Union and The Best Man , but can he stay and still retain his integrity? That question is left unanswered.

The Seduction of Joe Tynan won mixed reviews, but did fairly well at the box offi ce, thanks at least in part to Alda’s popularity. The New Yorker derided the movie’s “have a nice day” politics and called the fi lm “overwrought, airless and pious.” 6 Feminists approved of the presence of strong women with careers, but expressed disappointment that their ultimate function was to support the male. For all its shortcomings, however, Joe Tynan refl ects polit-ical reality. More than most fi lms about politics, it rings true on the personal costs of political life, its small compromises, and its corruptions. The process is convincingly portrayed with-out resorting to dirty little secrets as in Advise and Consent and The Best Man , thus keeping the melodrama within the realm of credibility. Joe Tynan ’s great strength, like that of The Candidate , is its feel for politics and politicians. Bill McKay and Joe Tynan face the horrors and carry on. They may sell out, but we understand why because the movies make sure we continue to like them. However cynical these movies are, they are more realistic than other movies about politics because they keep their politicians human. Their view may be less than reassuring, but their truthfulness is an advance for political movies.

Paranoia

These fi lms marked a change in the way movies portrayed politics. Before World War II, fi lmmakers insisted that individuals could make a difference: heroes and heroines could fi ght the system and win, often by calling on the support of “the people.” But after the war, movies emphasized the corrupting nature of power: good men became evil ( All the King’s Men , A Lion Is in the Streets) or had to walk away from politics to preserve their honor (State of the Union , Viva Zapata!). Still later, individuals had to adapt to the system and play as members

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of the team (Advise and Consent , The Best Man). But in The Candidate and Joe Tynan , the system was bigger than the individuals. The process itself dominated, sweeping individu-als along with it. As entertaining and seductive as these movies were, their message about politics was less than empowering.

Their portrayal of politicians being overwhelmed by the system was mild, however, compared to the political messages of other fi lms of the mid- 1970s. Francis Ford Coppola followed The Godfather (1972) with The Godfather, Part II (1974), an even bleaker view of American society in which his Mafi a family goes corporate and falls apart. Meanwhile, Roman Polanski’s Chinatown (1974) took up corrupt politics in Los Angeles. In all three movies, economic interests dominated and politicians were mere puppets.

Executive Action (1973), based on the works of conspiracy theorist Mark Lane and writ-ten by Dalton Trumbo, was even more paranoid with its theory that a right- wing conspiracy had President John F. Kennedy assassinated to prevent his family from perpetuating itself in power and moving the country to the left. Newsreel footage and factual details made Execu-tive Action seem realistic, but too much didactic dialogue defeated it with critics and at the box offi ce.

Executive Action ends with an ominous report of the deaths of eighteen material witnesses within three years of Kennedy’s assassination, a phenomenon that also inspired The Paral-lax View (1974). In this fi lm, a crusading reporter (Warren Beatty) stumbles onto a corporate assassination bureau when he notices that all the witnesses to a political killing are being eliminated. He infi ltrates the Parallax Corporation, which at fi rst seems to be training him as an assassin but later sets him up as the fall guy for another agent. The fi lm begins and ends with investigative commissions dismissing charges of conspiracy in assassinations and concluding that the alleged killer (in both cases the wrong man) acted alone, exactly as the Warren Commission did after the Kennedy assassination. With its ominous music, dark lighting, and obscure villain, The Parallax View was basically updating the political thriller, but its hero was not merely co- opted, like Bill McKay in The Candidate ; he was destroyed by the system. Critics liked the movie, but despite its production values and star, The Paral-lax View failed at the box offi ce.

Political paranoia continued in Three Days of the Condor (1975), directed by Sydney Pollack and coauthored by Lorenzo Semple Jr., one of the scenarists of The Parallax View . Robert Redford plays a scruffy CIA researcher who chances on some dangerous information that results in his entire offi ce being wiped out, a massacre he escapes only by a fl uke. When he phones his superiors, they promise him safety if he comes in, but when the friend sent to reassure him is murdered, he grows wary. Isolated and able to trust no one, he decides to take his story to the New York Times . This promises a happy ending until a CIA operative (Cliff Robertson) says to Redford, “How do you know they’ll print it?” The doubt in Redford’s face leaves us uncertain about the fi lm’s ending. Is even the New York Times controlled? Condor became one of the all- time political box offi ce hits, undoubtedly assisted by the star power of Robert Redford.

All the President’s Men (1976), another well- made Redford fi lm, was even more success-ful. Although it was presented as a thriller, audiences consciously saw it as a political movie, high in both political content and intent. Fascinated by the story of President Nixon’s fall from power, Redford acquired the rights to the book by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein. He then recruited director Alan Pakula ( The Parallax View ), who gave his fi lms an ominous quality through the clever use of lighting, editing, and music.

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The fi lmmakers faced a problem, however, when they set out to make a movie of events that were so recent. Audiences had followed the story in newspapers, watched the Senate hearings on television, and heard Nixon deny his involvement, and they had made a best seller of the book by the young Washington Post reporters who started the Watergate investigation. The fi lmmakers were gambling that the nation was suffi ciently obsessed with the story to make their movie a success, too. But as Pakula said, the story consisted of “one phone call after another. How do you make that interesting?” 7 With megastars Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman in the lead roles, the fi lmmakers decided to play the story as a thriller. All the President’s Men could not be a whodunit, of course, since the public already knew the answer. It was more of a how- they- done- it, focusing on the reporters and how they gradually and painstakingly got their story.

The action begins with the Watergate burglary, a story assigned to junior Washington Post reporter Bob Woodward (Redford). Carl Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman) muscles in as coau-thor, and when their story looks bigger than burglary, editor Ben Bradlee (Jason Robards Jr.) resists demands to put a national reporter on it. The big- time editors and reporters, we are told, would be less likely to dig into the story because they have been co- opted by their subjects, lunching at the same posh restaurants as the president’s men. This battle between the little guys and the elite puts us fi rmly on the side of the young reporters and their tough editor. They experience self- doubt when other papers ignore the story, missing the security of pack journalism, but they persist.

Pakula’s fi lming techniques constantly isolate and dwarf the two reporters. As they drive away from the newspaper building, for example, their car seems to be swallowed up by the city. As they plow through reams of research material at the Library of Congress, the camera looks down on them, making them appear to the audience as tiny fi gures encircled by an endless maze, an image that suggests the impossibility of their huge task. The sound track, too, constantly underlines their isolation with ominous music.

The two reporters gradually get their story not from the president’s men but from low- and middle- level workers in the Campaign to Re- Elect the President (CREEP)—except for “Deep Throat,” the mysterious high- level informant whose face is only dimly shown and who insists on secret meetings. Like the Parallax Corporation or the CIA in Three Days of the Condor , CREEP is powerful, unapproachable, and somehow dangerous. The low- level informants are terrifi ed, and even Deep Throat is obviously fearful. Film technique makes this fear palpable when Deep Throat meets Woodward deep inside a murky parking garage in a scene complete with creepy footsteps and thriller lighting. But while the investigation takes place in half- light and long shots with high camera angles, the revelations take place in the bright newsroom, with the camera closer and lower. Pakula said the “hard light of truth is in that newsroom; no shadows there.” 8 At the end of the movie, we hear the guns saluting Nixon’s inauguration on a television set in the newsroom, but the shots are gradu-ally drowned out by the clacking of a lone Teletype pounding out reports of the conviction of the president’s men. Viewers know that by telling the truth to the people, two little guys will bring down the president and his men—a more upbeat ending than even Capra provided, and this time the story was true.

The critics were almost unanimously ecstatic about All the President’s Men , praising its accurate treatment of journalism although mainly admiring it as a thriller. Vincent Canby called it “the thinking man’s Jaws .” 9 Woodward and Bernstein became role models for American youth as journalism schools turned away applicants. Only Sylvester Stallone’s

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Rocky, another movie about a little guy making good, beat All the President’s Men at the box offi ce in 1976. No other purely political fi lm has done better at the box offi ce than this one, which ranked as one of Variety ’s “Box Offi ce Champions” through the 1980s. Audiences responded to a well- made fi lm with big stars, but they must also have wanted to relive the recent trauma of Watergate and learn more about it. The fi lm was nominated for Academy Awards for best fi lm and direction. Goldman won an Oscar for his script, and Jason Robards took the award for supporting actor.

All the President’s Men told us that politics is corrupt and that bad men can gain great power, but it also said that brave individuals, a free press, and public opinion can bring the evil men down, a traditional Hollywood view. Whereas The Parallax View suggested that evil was all pervasive, President’s Men reassured us that wickedness could be exposed and defeated. Condor ’s faith in the integrity of the press was vindicated. Yet the message of All the President’s Men was not entirely comforting. Our heroes are transparently ambitious and careerist. They publish their fi ndings knowing innocent people will be hurt, and the movie does not justify their action. They manipulate people and use their colleagues, ultimately making a big mistake about the confi rmation of some information. Yet if two junior reporters have to save the country all by themselves, surely democratic institutions and the press are working imperfectly. If the young reporters or their stubbornly courageous editor had been diverted, the defense of democracy would have failed. Finally, playing the story as a thriller implied an ominous, evil power although it remained undefi ned. What were the CREEP workers so frightened of and what actually happened to them? Who were the president’s men and what exactly did they do? Their actions may have been an accumulation of small corruptions not entirely unlike those practiced by the reporters, but Pakula made them seem purely malign, perhaps even worse than they were. The president’s men became a faceless conspiracy like the Parallax Corporation. This treatment, however, probably had more to do with making an entertaining and profi table movie than with sending a message.

Nevertheless, this fi lm sent a powerful message. According to scriptwriter William Gold-man, Ronald Reagan thought that All the President’s Men “cost Gerald Ford the presidency against Jimmy Carter, because the fi lm’s release in April of ’76 and its long run fl ushed to the surface again all the realities of Watergate that the Republicans had tried so hard to bury. We are talking,” Goldman boasted, “about a movie that . . . just might have changed the entire course of American history.” 10 Appropriately, it was the fi rst fi lm screened in the Carter White House.

Reagan and Goldman notwithstanding, Sylvester Stallone’s Rocky , also released in 1976, may have had as much to do with Carter’s election as All the President’s Men . Both movies were about little guys who became heroes, just as Carter rose from the obscurity of Georgia politics to the presidency. Like movie politicians from Mr. Smith onward, Carter presented himself as a nonpolitician, carrying his own luggage, sleeping in the homes of voters, and swearing never to tell a lie; and the nation longed for a nonpolitician like Jimmy Carter in 1976.

Later in the decade, The China Syndrome (1979) continued the theme of paranoia and interest in the media. As All the President’s Men helped lead to changes in campaign fi nance law and amendments to the Freedom of Information Act, this movie also had a direct impact on policy and bolstered the growing public opposition to nuclear power. The China Syn-drome was independently made by IPC, the Bruce Gilbert–Jane Fonda production company responsible for other Fonda fi lms of the era. Like those movies, it suffered from what might

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be called the Fonda syndrome, raising an important issue but delivering a timid message. Although inspired by the death of nuclear power worker Karen Silkwood, director and coauthor James Bridges changed the storyline so as to emphasize TV news as much as nuclear energy. Instead of a blue- collar worker like Silkwood, Fonda played a glamorous TV reporter.

Kimberly Wells (Fonda) covers light stories but longs to do hard news. She is given a chance to do a series on nuclear energy, although initially it looks more like promotion than news. By chance, she and her crew are present at a power plant during an “incident,” and her aggressive freelance cameraman (Michael Douglas) fi lms the event surreptitiously. They rush back to the station with their scoop, but when the power company denies that anything unusual happened, the station manager refuses to let Kimberly air the story. Confi dent that the TV station will not air anything detrimental to its capitalist partner, the hot- tempered cameraman steals the fi lm.

Kimberly goes looking for the photographer and the fi lm so she can give it back to the station manager and save her job. In a bar near the power plant, she meets Godell (Jack Lemmon), the engineer who was in charge at the time of the accident. He is nervous about talking to her, but he is also attracted to her, and she uses her good looks to get him to open up. Gradually, his worries about a company cover- up come out.

Godell starts out as a true believer in nuclear power and his company. When his coworker, an uneducated twenty- fi ve- year company man (Wilfred Brimley), says he is afraid the inves-tigators will attribute the accident to human error and make him the scapegoat, Godell is incredulous. “What makes you think they’re looking for a scapegoat?” he asks. “Tradition,” answers the company man. When the shallow investigation concludes with a cover- up, the appalled Godell begins poking around and discovers falsifi ed safety checks that prove the accident was more serious than the company has admitted. The power company rejects Godell’s charges and has Kimberly’s report suppressed with the collusion of her television station. New safety checks would cost too much, the company says, and might delay the licensing of a new plant at even greater cost. Kimberly and her activist cameraman arrange for Godell to give evidence at hearings on the licensing of the new plant and arrange for their soundman to deliver their videotaped evidence to support him, but the soundman, like Karen Silkwood, is killed in an auto accident. Desperate, Godell seizes the control room of his plant and sends for Kimberly and her cameraman to broadcast his statement. Above them in a glass booth, a company executive oozes evil as he watches their preparations. By the time they go on the air, Godell is so nervous that he comes off as a nut. The police antiterror-ist squad breaks in and kills him, and at that very moment another nuclear accident begins.

Even as the power plant shakes and rattles, the company mounts a new cover- up, blam-ing it all on the dead Godell. Kimberly asks Godell’s coworker, the company man, whether management’s allegations about his friend are true. He pauses and then says the company is wrong, that Godell was a good man. As the fi lm ends, we assume the truth has come out, although a note of ambiguity is introduced when the movie takes us back to the television studio and the news broadcast is interrupted by an advertisement for microwave ovens.

Predictably, the nuclear power industry tried to discredit The China Syndrome even before it was released, but two weeks after it opened, an accident at Pennsylvania’s Three Mile Island (T.M.I.) nuclear plant spectacularly gave the movie both credibility and public-ity. Years later when the fear of nuclear energy had subsided or at least been overwhelmed by climate change anxiety, The China Syndrome co- star Michael Douglas recalled the profound

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effect of the fi lm’s message and its timing with the T.M.I. disaster. Watching the accident play out on television news reports which interspersed live shots from Pennsylvania with eerily similar scenes from the fi lm converted Douglas. While Fonda was fi rmly anti- nuke before making the fi lm, Douglas was not as dogmatic. Recalled Douglas, “It was a religious awakening. I felt it was God’s hand.” 11

The fi lm was advertised as a thriller, but the coincidence of Three Mile Island gave emphasis to what would otherwise have seemed a timid message. Thanks to the free public-ity, heavy advertising, generally good reviews, three Oscar nominations, and many public appearances by Fonda, Douglas, and Lemmon, all of whom agreed with the movie’s mes-sage, The China Syndrome did well at the box offi ce.

In addition to foreseeable criticism from the nuclear power industry, the harshest reviews of this fi lm came from the left, which fl ayed The China Syndrome for choosing entertain-ment over political substance, trivializing the opposition to nuclear energy, ignoring the problems of blue- collar workers, showing too much faith in the media, and substituting indi-vidual for collective action. 12 In the end, the fi lm’s heroes are not against nuclear power; they just want to tell the public the truth. Good people stand up and speak out, another reassuring conclusion along the lines of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and All the President’s Men . The China Syndrome implies that telling the truth about the accidents will be enough to mobilize the public and precipitate government action, and in a way it was. This popular and enter-taining movie, considerably aided by the coincidence of Three Mile Island, added impetus to the long years of organizing, demonstrating, and lobbying that ended the construction of nuclear power plants in America.

Revenge of the Blacklist

In addition to political thrillers and movies like The Candidate , the mid- 1970s brought a modest revival of the Old Left. As the civil rights and antiwar movements reached their culmination, the Old Left found itself rehabilitated. Activists who had been blacklisted and spurned in the 1950s became the new heroes and heroines, and the old witch hunt virtually reversed itself as the collaborators and friendly witnesses of the House Un- American Activi-ties Committee (HUAC) fell into disrepute. Lillian Hellman, Dalton Trumbo, Arthur Miller, and others who had been harassed became cultural icons, and the Old Left got its revenge in the movies, too.

In the grand Hollywood tradition, however, the fi rst of these fi lms, The Way We Were (1973), was more romantic than political. Star casting and an eye toward prospective prof-its may have led to the toning down of the political content originally intended by director Sydney Pollack and writer Arthur Laurents, who adapted his own novel.

Katie (Barbra Streisand) is a student activist in the 1930s. As president of the Young Communists League, she is serious and committed, even fanatical, and she works her way through college, too. The rich, handsome Hubbell (Robert Redford), however, is just out for a good time. Katie, who is Jewish, dismisses Hubbell as a rich WASP twit until one of his short stories is read aloud in class. “In a way he was like the country he lived in,” the story begins. “Everything came too easily.” Later, during World War II, the two meet again and fall in love. After the war, they end up in Hollywood, where he is a scriptwriter and she is an activist housewife just as anti- Communist fever is taking hold in Congress. When Katie joins the protests against HUAC, they separate, and the movie ends when they accidentally

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meet later in New York City after the Red Scare has ended. She is handing out ban- the- bomb literature, and he is taking his new WASP wife into the Plaza Hotel. Katie reports that she, too, has remarried, and they part nostalgically.

The romantic stars made The Way We Were a box offi ce hit, but most reviewers criti-cized its soft politics, which reduced the movie to a melodrama of doomed love. In scenes that were cut from the movie at the last minute, Katie is called to testify before HUAC and must choose between naming names or refusing to do so and hurting Hubbell’s career. She refuses and loses him for the sake of her politics. Had audiences seen this version, we might have wished the wimpy Hubbell good riddance, but instead we see Katie giving up Robert Redford just to stand on a street corner and hand out leafl ets.

Not surprisingly, the political theme of The Way We Were was lost on most audiences, but if its backers and makers played safe with their investment, those of The Front (1976) were more forthright. The writer, director, and several actors in The Front were black-listed themselves, a fact that was noted in the fi lm’s end credits and that surely added to its credibility.

In this fi lm, a blacklisted TV scriptwriter (Michael Murphy) asks his friend Howard (Woody Allen) to “front” for him. This means that Howard will put his name on the writer’s scripts and deal with producers in the writer’s stead in return for a fee. Howard agrees because he needs the money, and soon he is serving as a front for other blacklisted writers as well and enjoying wealth and fame. The workings of the blacklist are seen not only through Howard’s dealings with the writers he fronts for, but also through pressures on Hecky Brown (Zero Mostel), a comic. Claiming innocence of left- wing activities, Hecky is pressured to spy on Howard and others, loses his job, and ultimately kills himself.

The investigators then subpoena Howard. He has no politics and is outraged at being wrongly accused, but he cannot inform because he would lose his stable of writers. The inves-tigators demand names—any names, even the dead, even Hecky Brown. One of the writers Howard fronts for explains that all the persecutors really want is to prove they can make Howard submit—a belief widely shared by HUAC’s critics. During the hearing, Howard balks at naming his dead friend Hecky, declaring that he does not recognize the committee’s right to “ask those kind of questions and furthermore you can all go fuck yourselves.” He walks out, and the fi lm ends with him being taken to prison for contempt. A crowd cheers, his left- wing writers pat him on the back, and he wins back his liberal girlfriend. The front has become a hero and “Young at Heart” plays on the sound track (“Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you . . .”).

The Front got mixed notices from critics, many of whom found it unsatisfactory as either political analysis or comedy. The harshest criticisms were from the left for taking blacklist-ing too lightly, particularly through the comic “intrusion . . . of the classic Woody Allen character, the Jewish schlemiel.” 13 Pauline Kael thought it was a “slightly archaic” movie about a common man standing up for what was right, “like the heroes of the forties war-time movies written by those who were later blacklisted.” 14 Audiences, however, liked The Front , and it was more successful at the box offi ce than a fi lm with tougher politics might have been.

The Front described the workings of the blacklist and left no doubt that it was bad. If anything, the movie oversimplifi ed this evil by caricaturing the investigators. To the fi lm’s credit, however, not all of its blacklist victims were as innocent as Hecky and Howard. Still, The Front offered little real understanding of why the blacklist existed, and even its terrible

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impact on individuals was obscured by what most audiences took as a happy ending, despite the fi lm’s implication that it was fantasy. Casting Woody Allen in the lead also weakened The Front , instantly making it “a Woody Allen movie.” Howard learned, grew, and fi nally took action, yet because of Allen’s presence the audience perceived the movie as a comedy, straining for laughs even when they were not there.

The Way We Were and The Front illustrate how political messages can be subverted or obscured by Hollywood’s imperative to fi nd an audience and make money. Both fi lms took on political subjects and then backed away, the former toward romance and the latter toward comedy. Both fi lms would have been stronger if the motives of their main characters had been more clearly political, but their actions were either unfathomable or explained by love and loyalty. On the other hand, the romance and comedy found audiences, which tougher politics might not have done.

Although Julia (1977) was not explicitly about the blacklist, it must have been sweet revenge for HUAC critic Lillian Hellman, who wrote the book, Pentimento , that included the story on which this fi lm was based. Directed by Fred Zinnemann, Julia starred Jane Fonda and Vanessa Redgrave, both of whom, like Hellman, had suffered career setbacks because of their politics. Julia (Redgrave) is an antifascist student activist and a committed revolutionary in Nazi Germany. She asks her friend Lillian (Fonda) to help her by smuggling money for the resistance, an act of danger and bravery, especially for someone like Lillian who is not directly involved. Lillian, undertaking the mission out of personal loyalty rather than political commitment, matures in the process. The politically conscious Julia is the moral center of the fi lm and her commitment is strongly justifi ed by her antifascism. Lillian, on the other hand, exhibits the naiveté of some people who associated with left- wing causes in the 1930s, suggesting that HUAC exaggerated their subversiveness. Perhaps more nota-ble, however, was the fact that women were heroines rather than marginal characters in this fi lm. By giving both women a fi rm basis for their actions and by letting us see Lillian mature, Julia provided a politically stronger condemnation of HUAC and the blacklist than either The Way We Were or The Front . Signifi cantly, this fi lm about friendship, bravery, and politi-cal commitment—neither a romance nor a comedy—was a popular and critical success and won three Oscars.

Disillusionment

Whatever their shortcomings, The Way We Were , The Front , Julia , and All the President’s Men acknowledged the potential for honorable individual action. The Candidate and the political thrillers of the 1970s had argued that such action was futile against the overpower-ing corruption of the system, but their heroes were willing to join the struggle, and at least there was a central power that could be opposed, even if defeat was inevitable.

Other movies of the decade revealed a deeper disillusionment, perhaps more accurately refl ecting the spirit of the times. Beloved political leaders had been killed. The civil rights, antiwar, and women’s movements of the 1960s and 1970s had fallen apart. Political action seemed useless to many liberals after the defeat of George McGovern and the reelection of Richard Nixon in 1972. Watergate, Nixon’s resignation, and Gerald Ford’s presidency only exacerbated the disillusionment, as did the fall of Saigon in 1975. Crime, violence, urban decay, and racial polarization were on the rise, and the environmental and sexual liberation

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movements seemed more personal than political. The country diffi dently celebrated its bicentennial in 1976 as the little- known antipolitician Jimmy Carter was elected president. Not surprisingly, movies refl ected the nation’s disillusionment.

During this period, Warren Beatty, one of Hollywood’s most politically active stars, pro-duced, coauthored (with Robert Towne), and starred in Shampoo (1975), directed by Hal Ashby. Although this is not primarily a political movie, its climactic scene takes place at a political banquet and it uses constant television commentary on the 1968 election of Richard Nixon as a backdrop. Beatty said his movie was “about the intermingling of political and sexual hypocrisy,” 14 comparing Nixon’s public behavior with our own private behavior.

Director Robert Altman showed similar disillusionment in Nashville (1975), using the country- and- western music capital as a microcosm of American society. Altman had taken on the military in the anti- Vietnam War fi lm M*A*S*H (1970), set during the Korean War, and made corporate businessmen the villains in his “western,” McCabe and Mrs. Miller (1971) . Nashville was more overtly political, although most viewers were unsure just what the message was. Like Altman’s other fi lms of the 1970s, it destroyed all expectations with its multicharacter structure and chaotic plot, yet it managed to remain profoundly humanist.

No less than twenty- four characters crisscross through Nashville . Their lives are a country- and- western version of Tom Wolfe’s “Me Decade” as they dash around trying to attain or keep hold of stardom. “The whole piece,” scriptwriter Joan Tewkesbury said, “was about people who were trying to do the best job they could with the equipment they had in this dumb kind of social structure.” 16 As in Shampoo , politics provides a backdrop for the hustling in Nashville . Hal Philip Walker is the unseen “Replacement Party” candidate for president. A roving sound truck constantly announces his vaguely populist proposals, including a new national anthem “that people can sing.” An advance man (Michael Mur-phy), reminiscent of the campaign manager in The Candidate , is in Nashville lining up stars to support Walker at a big concert. All twenty- four characters come together at the rally, and the movie climaxes when an assassin who apparently panics while waiting to kill Walker murders one of them, a country megastar. The fi lm ends as an aspiring country singer picks up the microphone and sings “It Don’t Worry Me,” an antipolitical song that says we will all survive no matter what.

Audiences were mystifi ed by Nashville , probably because of its chaotic structure, and its box offi ce was mediocre, but the fi lm was nominated for fi ve Academy Awards, and critics raved about it. Some complained about its ending, however, and Tewkesbury admitted that the assassination was added at Altman’s request. 17 Such occurrences were on Americans’ minds at the time, and this one pointed up the randomness of violence in our society, but as an ending, it may have been more convenient than political. The basic mood of Nashville was pessimistic, the fi lm had no political answers, and only a few honorable characters offered hope for the future.

Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver (1976) was even bleaker. This fi lm’s protagonist, Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro), is an unstable Vietnam vet who is drawn to politics by his infat-uation with a campaign worker (Cybill Shepherd), who ignores him. To get attention or revenge, he plans to assassinate her candidate, but he is diverted by his obsession with a child prostitute (Jodie Foster) and ends up wreaking bloody havoc on her pimp (Harvey Keitel). Politics is a separate world in this movie, irrelevant to the hell Travis lives in. Like the beautiful campaign worker, politics is hypocritical and uncaring, incapable of providing

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salvation. Travis wreaks his crazy vengeance not on the politician, however, but on the pimp, a more deserving target. This grim, antipolitical movie was allegedly an inspiration to John Hinckley, who attempted to assassinate President Ronald Reagan to gain the attention of Jodie Foster.

Network (1976) featured yet another crazy man and yet another assassination. Directed by Sidney Lumet and written by Paddy Chayefsky, Network was a hugely popular and criti-cal hit, with four Oscars and fi ve more nominations, for although it was as cynical as Nashville and Taxi Driver , audiences found it more entertaining. “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!” cries a TV anchorman (Peter Finch) when he is fi red. He threatens to commit suicide on live television and becomes a cult hero. The network sees it has a good thing going and unscrupulously takes advantage of the newsman’s insanity by giving him his own show. The programming executive (Faye Dunaway) will broad-cast anything that will get good ratings, including a sort of terrorist- of- the- week show. She is encouraged and rewarded by the vicious, unscrupulous network president (Robert Duvall), but even he is subordinate to the chairman of the board (Ned Beatty). Preaching like a revivalist converting sinners, the chair warns the obsessed anchorman to contain his rabble- rousing because corporations like the one that owns the network have replaced nations and now rule the world.

Network ’s “I’m mad as hell” slogan gave the fi lm a populist tone, but its contempt for tele vision audiences did not manifest faith in the public. In fact, Network offered no hope at all. Like other movies of the 1970s, including both Godfather fi lms, Chinatown , The Parallax View , and Shampoo , Network saw politics and politicians as less powerful than cor-porations, a more radical and distressing political analysis than that offered by earlier fi lms. Even more distressing, these movies refused to offer even a glimmer of hope.

Network (1976) concerns the growing infl uence of television and the cynical, greedy forces behind its production. Here former newscaster Howard Beale (Peter Finch) transforms into a cult celebrity, as indicated by the stained glass backdrop to his television show.

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Hollywood Discovers Vietnam

Among the most painful topics for Americans in the 1960s and 1970s was the war in Vietnam. Hollywood largely avoided this subject except for John Wayne’s The Green Berets (1968) and some fi lms of the early 1970s for which the war functioned as background. In American Graffi ti , for example, the war was seen as a part of growing up. In Nashville, an edgy Vietnam vet who could have been an assassin turns out to be a hero. And in Taxi Driver , it is a crazed veteran who explodes into horrifi c violence. But it was not until after the fall of Saigon in 1975 and the election of President Carter in 1976 that Hollywood contemplated Vietnam seriously.

The fi rst such effort, Twilight’s Last Gleaming (1977), was a thriller along the lines of Fail Safe , offering a left- wing explanation of the war. Director Robert Aldrich, one of Hollywood’s most consistent liberals, had previously made the pro- Indian Apache (1954) and the antiwar, anticlass Attack (1956). 17 Lawrence Dell (Burt Lancaster), the protago-nist in Twilight’s Last Gleaming , is a renegade general but, contrary to convention, he is a liberal rather than a fascist, and he wants the American people to know the truth about U.S. involvement in Vietnam. Drummed out of the air force and railroaded into prison for his fanaticism, he escapes with two other inmates, seizes a Strategic Air Command missile silo, and threatens to launch the missiles unless the president makes public the minutes of a National Security Council meeting that will tell all. A sympathetic president (Charles Durn-ing) prepares to do so, but his advisers oppose him, and when he goes to the silo to bring the renegade general out, both men are gunned down. In the words of Dell’s associate, the men who control the system would sacrifi ce even the president rather than “blow their gig.”

The general and the president act as they do for clear, unambiguous reasons: they are good men who want the people to know the truth. In earlier movies, the good guys usually won when the people learned the truth. Here, as in other 1970s movies, the truth never comes out and the good guys lose, but at least the movie tells us such heroes do exist. The fi lm’s chilling conclusion gains nuance and a certain ambiguity from good casting and fi ne acting, but audiences and critics were unenthusiastic.

Other movies about the war followed. Rolling Thunder (1977) featured a Vietnam vet using skills acquired in the war to wreak vengeance at home. Big Wednesday (1978) was about three surfers, one of whom was drafted and sent to Vietnam. The effects of the war were taken up in Who’ll Stop the Rain (1978), which suggested that America had corrupted itself through its involvement in Vietnam, as a disillusioned journalist, criminals, crooked federal agents, and relatively innocent bystanders fi ght over the spoils—drugs, in this case.

Go Tell the Spartans (1978) and The Boys in Company C (1978) were the fi rst combat fi lms about Vietnam since The Green Berets , although neither was as old- fashioned as that fi lm. Go Tell the Spartans takes place in the early days when Americans are just advisers in Vietnam, but one of them (Burt Lancaster again) begins to doubt the worthiness of the cause. Sidney J. Furie’s The Boys in Company C , however, was a combat fi lm with a difference.

Like a World War II movie, The Boys in Company C follows a cross section of American men—including a black, a big- city Italian, a hippie, and a good ol’ country boy—through training and their fi rst month in Vietnam, but we soon learn that this is like no other movie war. Within a day of arriving in Vietnam, one takes heroin, another deals drugs, and a third blows up a general’s trailer. Their offi cers are tyrants interested only in body counts, the enemy is an unseen terror, and the South Vietnamese offi cers are corrupt. The movie, however, makes

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a point of including some good Vietnamese civilians who are befriended by the streetwise black soldier, who, albeit reluctantly, becomes the informal leader of Company C.

The men are ordered to lose a soccer match to a Vietnamese team in order to boost the morale of their allies. In return, Company C will be taken off combat duty and sent on a soccer tour. The catch is that they have to keep losing. They refuse and return to the front, preferring to take their chances rather than become part of the all- pervasive corruption. The Boys in Company C does not, however, say that fi ghting to win is the best alternative. Rather, it honors those who refuse to sell out, whether they fi ght or desert, and especially if they are loyal to their peers.

Unfortunately, this fi ne little movie was overshadowed by Hollywood’s fi rst big, star- studded productions on Vietnam. The Deer Hunter and Coming Home swept the 1978 Oscars and cleaned up at the box offi ce. These two fi lms were also widely, if somewhat unfairly, perceived as representing the right- and left- wing perspectives on the war.

The Deer Hunter , written by Deric Washburn and directed by Michael Cimino, is about a group of working- class men who leave their industrial hometown to go to war. They do so out of a sense of duty, without questioning why and with no particular prejudices either for or against the war. The camaraderie of their life at home gives way to the brutality, chaos, confusion, and pervasive evil of the war. When they are taken prisoner, everything centers on their struggle for survival. Before they escape, their evil Vietcong captors force the men to play a brutal game of Russian roulette. Having lived through incredible degradation, some of the young men return to their community, but they are ineradicably altered by what they have gone through, and they have diffi culty adjusting.

Michael (Robert De Niro), the leader of the group and an avid deer hunter, no longer takes pleasure in hunting. He returns to Saigon just before its fall to try to save Nick (Christopher Walken), who has become obsessed with the game of Russian roulette he learned from the Vietcong and now plays before an audience for money. The game becomes a symbol of American involvement in Vietnam, and it also reveals that its South Vietnamese audience and gamblers are just as vile and bloodthirsty as the Vietcong. Nick fi nally loses and Michael returns to their hometown, where the fi lm ends with the surviving buddies sadly singing “God Bless America.”

Although The Deer Hunter was a popular and critical hit, many people perceived it as a right- wing fi lm because of its failure to question the war and its uniformly racist portrait of Asians. The fi lm is oblivious to the impact of the war on the Vietnamese, in effect blaming them and absolving Americans of any responsibility. The game of Russian roulette is an effective dramatic device, but it also symbolizes the Asians’ contempt for human life. Direc-tor Cimino, who declared The Deer Hunter an antiwar fi lm because “any good picture about war is an antiwar picture,” saw the Russian roulette as a symbol of the pointlessness of war. 19 For him, the theme of the fi lm was how war destroys individuals and communities. Having seen the ravages of war, Michael no longer enjoys hunting deer. Even the singing of “God Bless America” can be seen as ironic, as the singers try to convince themselves that they still believe the lyrics. But while the pro- or antiwar sentiments of The Deer Hunter can be debated, it is clear in the fi lm that the Vietnamese are the bad guys and Cimino’s working- class Americans are innocent of responsibility. Cimino deserves credit for making a movie about the men who really fought the war, yet he seemed condescending to his working- class heroes, who are incapable of articulating their thoughts and oblivious to the politics of the

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war. The Deer Hunter might have been a more right- wing fi lm if Cimino had shown authen-tic working- class men with authentic attitudes about the war.

In contrast to Cimino’s epic of working- class men, Coming Home (1978) focuses on the middle- class wife of an offi cer. Initiated by Jane Fonda and Bruce Gilbert, Coming Home was directed by Hal Ashby, photographed by Haskell Wexler, and written by Waldo Salt, Robert C. Jones, and Nancy Dowd. The message these liberals put together was very differ-ent from Cimino’s but almost as muddled.

Jane Fonda plays Sally, whose offi cer husband (Bruce Dern) is sent to Vietnam. Sally at fi rst dreads being left alone, but after a while she feels liberated. She gets a sports car and a house on the beach and starts working with paraplegics. Soon she meets and falls in love with Luke (Jon Voight), a veteran who is opposed to the war. Like many Fonda characters, Sally is naive in the beginning, but she grows and learns and, as Gilbert Adair has written, “turns into Jane Fonda.” 19 Despite his disabilities, Luke furthers the cause by helping her achieve her fi rst orgasm. They have happy times and play at the beach. Sally’s husband, Bob, is mentally unbalanced when he comes home from Vietnam. She tries to reconcile with him, but in his stressed- out state, she cannot reach him. When the meddlesome FBI tells Bob that Sally has been involved with an antiwar activist in his absence, he loses control, menacingly confronting the lovers, but ultimately turns away, defeated and in despair, to end it all by swimming out to sea to die.

Like The Best Years of Our Lives , Coming Home is about adapting. Luke is the model, coming to terms with a bad war by opposing it. In so doing, he becomes a complete, caring human being, able to help Sally to adjust. Bob, on the other hand, is unable to adapt his tra-ditional military values to new circumstances. Too rigid to change, he chooses death. It could have been worse for Bob; an earlier draft of the script had him sniping at freeway traffi c. As an antiwar movie, Coming Home could have convinced few. Apparently the fi lmmakers thought they could make their point best by fudging the politics and playing up the romance. Perhaps they were right, for although some critics disdained this fi lm as superfi cial, it did well at the box offi ce and won Academy Awards for best actress, actor, and screenplay.

Meanwhile, Hollywood eagerly awaited the defi nitive fi lm on the war in Vietnam from Francis Ford Coppola, America’s hottest contemporary director after his Godfather suc-cesses. The anticipation was heightened when Coppola was nearly bankrupted by prodigious production problems in the Philippines, for unlike The Deer Hunter and Coming Home , all of Apocalypse Now (1979) was to be set in Vietnam.

Based on Joseph Conrad’s novel Heart of Darkness , Coppola’s movie follows Willard (Martin Sheen) on his mission to fi nd and kill Kurtz (Marlon Brando), a rogue American offi cer who is fi ghting the enemy on its own terms. During his journey, Willard runs into a cavalry offi cer addicted to surfi ng who leads a helicopter raid on an innocent village in search of the perfect wave. Later, Willard’s crew panics and slaughters a boatload of Viet-namese who also turn out to be innocent. As their adventures continue, Willard and his men witness American troops going berserk over a Playboy show imported for their entertain-ment, reiterating the uniqueness of this war and sending up Bob Hope’s renowned troop shows. After all this, when Willard fi nally arrives at Kurtz’s bizarre encampment, the argu-ments of the renegade leader and his admirers in favor of their mad methods seem relatively persuasive. In the end, Willard has to decide whether to eliminate Kurtz, join him, or replace him. The fi lm makes all these alternatives seem credible.

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Critics and audiences were stunned by Apocalypse Now , for Coppola’s nightmare of Vietnam was more surrealistic than realistic. Reviews of the movie were mixed, as both left and right criticized the confusing (or confused) politics of the fi lm, and despite eight Academy Award nominations, Apocalypse Now won only for sound and cinematography. Coppola’s fi lm nevertheless did well at the box offi ce, surpassing the other war movies to join Variety ’s top 100 “Box Offi ce Champions.” Despite their reservations, the critics gener-ally agreed that Apocalypse Now successfully communicated the horror of the war. Better than other fi lms, it suggested the war’s otherworldliness, its confusion of good and evil, and its contagious, destructive madness. Yet Apocalypse Now could also be read as a defense of that destructiveness because of Kurtz’s claim that he was driven to extreme action by the atrocities of the Vietcong. In fact, Kurtz’s justifi cation of his behavior seemed to be the point of Apocalypse Now , not only because the role of Kurtz was played by a superstar but also because the character was the subject of the quest that took up two hours of the fi lm. 21 This interpretation was undercut, however, by Kurtz’s apparent madness, Brando’s low- key per-formance, and the apparent innocence of the Vietnamese civilians in the earlier scenes. The meeting with Kurtz is an anticlimactic and unsatisfying conclusion to Willard’s journey, but the events leading up to the meeting help explain Kurtz’s actions and the view of Vietnam as a quagmire, making clear the reasons for deeper and deeper U.S. involvement and excess.

All of these fi lms about Vietnam made money and some were big hits, but Hollywood soon turned away from the war. Bad reviews and box offi ce worries played a part in this disenchantment, but the nature of the war seemed the primary reason. The complexity of the situation in Vietnam was diffi cult to catch in fi ction fi lms, especially when people had seen so much news footage on TV. The Vietnam War also remained a very painful subject, not only because America lost, but also because the reasons for involvement had never been clear. Hollywood liked simpler wars, like World War II, in which our reasons for fi ghting were clear, but in the brief cycle of movies about Vietnam, few offered an explanation. Apocalypse Now contemplated the deepening American involvement and its increasing irra-tionality, but on the whole these fi lms focused on the impact of the war on the individuals who fought it and on its effect on American society. Except for a handful of characters in The Boys in Company C and Coming Home who survived with their honor and their sanity intact, these movies unanimously concluded that the war screwed everybody up, a message that was basically antiwar. In this at least, the Vietnam movies were well within the Hollywood tradition—most war fi lms made during peacetime are antiwar. But even the antiwar message was obscured by the fi lms’ focus on individuals, a sure way to defuse political content, since every issue is personalized and therefore not necessarily applicable to American society as a whole. Meanwhile, other issues caught the fi lm industry’s limited political attention.

Labor Unions and Corporate Power

America sank deeper into disillusionment and apathy through the 1970s, but even as the nation as a whole turned away from politics, Hollywood continued in one of its most politi-cal periods, taking on not only Vietnam, but also a variety of other issues. This was partly due to the coming of age of fi lmmakers whose political consciousness had been shaped by the 1960s, but changes in the corporate structure of the fi lm industry were also a factor. Larger corporations absorbed most of the big studios in the 1970s. The last to retain its inde-pendence was Columbia, which fell to Coca- Cola in 1982. Initially, the corporate studios

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made fewer fi lms, but as the size of audiences and the number of cinemas increased, so did the number of movies.

The nature of production had changed, however. Making a movie increasingly depended on packaging writers, directors, actors, and others into a “deal.” Such deals were still initiated by studios, but independent producers, agents, directors, actors, and writers also put together deals and took them to studios, which then acted as investors or distributors. Independent funding eventually became easier with the evolution of cable television and videocassettes as sources of revenue. In short, the role of the studios had changed: movies could now be made without them. Both Coming Home and Apocalypse Now , for example, were independent productions, as were many other fi lms of the era. Perhaps the increased independence of fi lmmakers accounts for a little fl urry of prolabor and anticorporate fi lms as the decade ended.

Hollywood has never shown sustained interest in the working class. Movies have always been more likely to center on lawyers, architects, teachers, doctors, or the idle rich. Working- class characters were more common in the early silent movies, and Warner Bros. featured them often enough to earn the label “the workingman’s studio” in the 1930s. But by the 1950s and 1960s, working- class people had become an endangered species in the movies, despite an occasional Marty (1955) or Joe (1970).

Union members fared even worse 21 because the studios fought a long battle against the unionization of their own workers. Even after that battle ended, unions were rarely favorably treated in American movies. The Grapes of Wrath sided with the workers, but stopped short of the enthusiastic unionism of Steinbeck’s novel. Outright pro- union fi lms like the sup-pressed Salt of the Earth were rare, and union corruption as in Big Jim McLain and On the Waterfront was more common. Given Hollywood history, the number of fi lms about workers and unions that appeared in the late 1970s and early 1980s was remarkable. Interestingly, Hollywood took up this topic as union membership was in decline and labor confl ict was becoming a thing of the past. Like Vietnam, it was a safe subject by the time the movies got around to it.

Director Hal Ashby’s Bound for Glory (1976) was about real- life folk singer Woody Guthrie’s travels with migrant farmworkers in 1936, but the treatment and the casting of David Carradine in the lead reduced the movie’s hero to a moody agitator who did not seem to care much about the people he stirred up. Factory workers took center stage in Blue Collar (1978) and F.I.S.T. (1978), although neither fi lm had anything good to say about unions. Paul Schrader’s Blue Collar powerfully conveyed the alienation and frustration of assembly- line workers, but it soon turned into a grim caper movie as three autoworkers rob their corrupt union and then turn against one another. Norman Jewison directed F.I.S.T. , but the movie seemed to have been more heavily infl uenced by Sylvester Stallone, its coauthor and star, who plays the Hoffa- style leader of the union whose initials give the fi lm its title. F.I.S.T. begins with a righteous strike that effectively makes the case for unions. The idealistic young hero joins up, grows more involved, and rises to leadership, but he ultimately betrays both his workers and his union as the fi lm reiterates one of Hollywood’s favorite political themes: power corrupts.

Despite movies like these and public antagonism to unions, one of the big hits of 1979 was the pro- union Norma Rae , independently produced and directed by one of Hollywood’s most consistent liberals, Martin Ritt. Norma Rae did well at the box offi ce, picked up two Academy Awards, and was praised by most critics. Based on the true story of a woman

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textile worker and union organizer, Norma Rae was released just as the effort to unionize the southern textile mills came to a head, helping to publicize the workers’ call for a national boycott against J.P. Stevens, one of the biggest companies. Both the boycott and the movie had happy endings.

Norma Rae (Sally Field), a naive and apathetic single parent who works in the mills, is recruited by Reuben, a northern union organizer (Ron Liebman) whom the other workers shun. Under his guidance, she develops into an effective grassroots organizer and leader. Their relationship is at the center of the fi lm, but although movie tradition leads us to expect them to have an affair, they do not. Their cultural and class differences are driven home by the diffi culties she faces as she becomes more involved in the fi ght for unionization. He is on his own, free to leave when he likes, but her roots are in the community and the personal pressures on her are enormous. Her family turns on her, and the factory managers try to isolate her as a troublemaker. In the end, however, the workers vote to join the union and Norma Rae is triumphant. Reuben packs up his fi les and moves on to his next project, leav-ing her in charge.

The upbeat ending ignored the tough battles to negotiate a contract and control the union that lay ahead, but the strengths of Norma Rae outweighed this weakness. Better than most fi lms, Norma Rae communicated the need for unions and the personal and political diffi cul-ties of organizing them. Norma Rae gave too much credit to two individuals, a shortcoming it had in common with most American political fi lms, but unlike most, it stressed that by working together and taking action, average people could take care of themselves.

Being There (1979), written by Jerzy Kosinski from his novel and directed by Hal Ashby, takes us from the shop fl oor to corporate boardrooms. Chance Gardener, played with bril-liant reserve by Peter Sellers, is a retarded illiterate who has lived all his life on the estate of a wealthy benefactor, watching television and tending the garden. When his protector dies, Chance is turned out on the streets, but he is unable to discern the difference between

Norma Rae (1979) features Sally Field in the title role trying to unionize a southern textile mill.

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television and reality. When street toughs harass him, he tries to make them go away by changing the channel on the TV remove control he carries. He walks into the street and is hit by a limousine. Its passenger, Eve Rand (Shirley MacLaine), takes him to her mansion for treatment, apparently worried about a lawsuit.

Eve’s husband, Benjamin (Melvyn Douglas yet again and even better), is a dying mega-industrialist, one of the men who run the country. He is impressed by Chance, whose rare comments either are noncommittal, and so taken as agreement, or refer to gardening, in which case they are taken metaphorically. The Rands introduce Chance to their circle, and he comes to be seen as some kind of authority. His cool reserve and his gardening com-ments, which everyone takes as metaphors, make him an instant celebrity when he appears on a television talk show. Rand introduces Chance to his protégé, the president of the United States, who is delighted with what he takes as Chance’s optimistic advice about the econ-omy: “As long as the roots are not severed, all will be well in the garden. . . . There will be growth in the spring.” Rand’s corporate colleagues choose the imbecilic Chance as their next presidential candidate. Meanwhile, Chance wanders into the wintry garden. The fi lm ends as he crosses a pond, walking on water.

Sellers was nominated for an Academy Award for his portrayal of Chance, and Melvyn Douglas won a well- deserved Oscar for his supporting role, but although the movie was a box offi ce success, some critics were put off by the absurdity of Being There . Intended as devastating satire, the fi lm came across as ominous rather than funny. People were unsure about its message and some even took Chance’s fi nal walk on water literally rather than iron-ically. Like Network , Being There was a condemnation of television, which numbs people’s minds and creates instant celebrities who do not deserve respect. Both fi lms also insisted that businessmen, not politicians, ran America.

Being There was only one of many movies of the late 1970s and early 1980s featuring the pervasive infl uence of business, perhaps refl ecting Hollywood’s greater independence as well as its anxiety about its own corporate status. Jane Fonda starred in a whole string of antibusiness movies during this period: Fun with Dick and Jane (1977), Comes a Horse-man (1978), The Electric Horseman (1979), The China Syndrome (1979), and Nine to Five (1980). But a fi lm that was itself a debacle for the businesses of Hollywood capped off the antibusiness fi lms of the 1970s.

Michael Cimino’s anticapitalist Heaven’s Gate (1980) is about the nineteenth- century range wars in Wyoming, during which land barons, aided by hired thugs and the army, brutally crush immigrant settlers. Cimino’s dazzling technique directs our sympathy to the heroic immigrants, whose community is movingly portrayed, but a dearth of dialogue and an obscurely motivated hero (Kris Kristofferson) make Heaven’s Gate too dependent on images. The critics panned it as boring, pretentious, and overlong, and distributors with-drew the fi lm before many people could see it. Heaven’s Gate deserved better because of its visual beauty as well as its revisionist view of the history of the West. Its anticapitalism also suggested that the interpretation of Cimino’s earlier work, The Deer Hunter , as right- wing was unfair. Heaven’s Gate cost $44 million and brought in less than $2 million, ruining Cimino’s career and leading fi lm fi nanciers to assert greater control over fi lmmakers—an ironic achievement for an anticapitalist fi lm.

The few defenders of Heaven’s Gate argued that the fi lm bombed because the American people were not prepared to see the truth about their history. But truth or not, a whole string of fi lms through the 1970s—from The Candidate to All the President’s Men , Network , Being

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There , and most of Jane Fonda’s fi lms—had already proved that audiences were perfectly willing to accept cynicism, paranoia, and corporate skulduggery.

Notes

1. Tom Wolfe, “The Me Decade and the Third Great Awakening,” Mauve Gloves & Madmen, Clutter & Vine (New York: Bantam [reprint], 1999).

2. Dan Ruby, “ Star Wars ,” Jump Cut , August 1978. 3. James Monaco, American Film Now (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979), p. 356. 4. Andrew Sarris, Politics and Cinema (New York: Columbia University Press, 1978), p. 20. 5. New York Times , June 30, 1972. 6. The New Yorker , August 20, 1979. 7. Alan Pakula, Guardian Lecture, National Film Theatre, London, February 25, 1986. 8. Ibid. 9. New York Times , August 3, 1976. 10. William Goldman, Adventures in the Screen Trade (London: Futura, 1985), p. 147. 11. Stephen J. Dubner, S.D. Levitt, “The Jane Fonda Effect,” New York Times , http://www.nytimes.

com/2007/09/16/magazine/16wwln- freakonomics- t.html?_r=0. Doug Zwick, “The Genre Syndrome,” and Michael Gallantz, “Meltdown in Hollywood,” both in Jump Cut , May 1980.

12. Norman Markowitz, “ The Front : Comic Revenge,” Jump Cut , July 1977. 13. Pauline Kael, Reeling (Boston: Little, Brown, 1976), p. 170. 14. Film Review , November 1975, p. 8. 15. American Film , March 1979. 16. Ibid. 17. See Peter Biskind, Seeing Is Believing (London: Pluto Press, 1983). 18. Michael Cimino, Guardian Lecture, National Film Theatre, London, August 11, 1983. 19. Gilbert Adair, Hollywood’s Vietnam (London: Proteus, 1981), p. 106. 20. Ibid., p. 165. 21. See Peter Stead, Film and the Working Class (London: Routledge, 1989).

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The 1980s New Patriotism, Old Reds, and a Return to

Vietnam in the Age of Reagan

Top Gun (1986)

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Republican presidents Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush presided over the United States through the 1980s as the country appeared to turn to the right. Observers in other countries found it hard to understand how America could prefer a second- rate actor like Ronald Reagan to Jimmy Carter, but for many Americans Reagan represented optimism and hope over Carter’s pessimism and malaise. International politics played a part, too, when Carter proved unable to resolve a lengthy stalemate over hostages in Iran. In electing Reagan, Americans protested the hostage crisis, rejected the Carter style, endorsed a reduc-tion in government, and moved to the right, but also they expressed nostalgia for their own past. Reagan was part of that past, having appeared on movie and television screens since 1937. His familiarity, his likable personality, and his very presence were reassuring. So was his rhetoric of traditional values and patriotism. Reagan offered simple, old- fashioned answers and an unfl inching faith in America that people longed for.

More than any other president, Reagan saw America and the world through a movie lens, making frequent references to fi lms and even citing scenes from movies as if they were real- life events. His language was often drawn from fi lm. For him, the Soviet Union was the “evil empire”—as in Star Wars —and his concept of an umbrella- like missile defense for the United States took the name of that fi lm. Like many Americans, he understood his country and the world through the movies, seeing fewer shades of gray than his predecessor and communicating in simple, straightforward, and reassuring words.

Worries about his lack of experience in foreign affairs were soon swept away by a wave of patriotism. The joyous return of the Iranian hostages on the day of his inauguration launched the revival of American pride and patriotism. Reagan called for a renewal of American power and boosted the nation’s military might with massive increases in military spending. Carter’s foreign policy emphasis on human rights was replaced by interventionism. Reagan bombed Beirut, sent troops into Lebanon, and loosed the U.S. Marines on the tiny island of Grenada. He intervened in El Salvador and Nicaragua, supporting the Contra counter-revolutionaries. He sent U.S. jets to raid Libya, which he claimed was the headquarters of world terrorism. Many Americans approved these actions—and some of the movies of the era refl ected that approval.

Meanwhile, Reagan reduced taxes, cut social programs, and ran up huge defi cits to fund military spending. Vice President George H.W. Bush, succeeding Reagan as president in 1988, continued his domestic and international policies, enjoying signifi cant early victo-ries. The Cold War ended when the Berlin Wall fell and the Soviet Union collapsed. Then, when Iraq occupied Kuwait in 1991, Bush showed decisive world leadership by building a coalition to free Kuwait and contain Iraq. But Bush was no Ronald Reagan. Lacking his predecessor’s charisma and good luck and with the nation blaming him for a recession, Bush was defeated in 1992 by Democrat Bill Clinton.

Despite the nation’s apparent move to the right in presidential elections in the 1980s, the fi lms of the decade were as politically diverse as in preceding decades, perhaps even more so. As independent fi lm production increased, fi lms with liberal messages seemed to pro-liferate, perhaps in reaction to Reagan and the move to the right. Other movies, however, refl ected the conservatism of the decade, emphasizing traditional values and patriotism. Syl-vester Stallone’s Rocky movies, for example, were old- fashioned stories based on traditional values; other fi lms of the 1980s exemplifi ed the resurgence of patriotism along with these values.

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A Warmed- Up Cold War and New Patriotism

Reaganite movies did not come into their own until after his 1984 reelection, but the trend started in 1982 with Sylvester Stallone’s First Blood , for which the Rocky movies and F.I.S.T. had paved the way. John Rambo (Stallone), a former Green Beret and winner of the Con-gressional Medal of Honor, is an alienated, itinerant Vietnam vet searching for a buddy who survived the war. After learning that his friend has died of Agent Orange-induced cancer, the distraught Rambo wanders around, looking like a cross between a hippie and a Hell’s Angel. Not surprisingly, a small- town sheriff (Brian Dennehy) orders him to move on and drives him to the outskirts of town. Rambo, who does not like being told what to do, starts back into town. The two men fi ght, and Rambo is arrested. In jail, he becomes a victim of police brutality. With visions of Vietnam in his head, Rambo goes berserk and breaks out, fl eeing to the woods.

A posse pursues Rambo along with the National Guard and state police. Rambo kills the bad cops but only wounds others, declaring, “Out here I’m the law!” His old Green Beret commander (Richard Crenna) tries to talk the surrounded Rambo into surrendering. “Do you want a war you can’t win?” he asks. Explaining the fi lm’s title, Rambo replies, “They drew fi rst blood—not me”:

It wasn’t my war. You asked me, I didn’t ask you. And I did what I had to do to win, but somebody wouldn’t let us win. And I come back to the world, and I see all those maggots at the airport, protesting me, calling me a baby- killer and all kinds of vile crap. Who are they to protest me, huh? Back there I could fl y a gunship, I could drive a tank. I was in charge of million- dollar equipment. Back here I can’t even hold a job.

Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985) continues the Rambo franchise with Sylvester Stallone as veteran John Rambo in a revisionist view of the Vietnam War and its aftermath.

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First Blood condemned the maltreatment of Vietnam vets, a message with which few would disagree, but the real point of this fi lm was action. Although critics laughed at the movie, Stallone laughed last: First Blood was a box offi ce smash, and Stallone followed it with two Rambo sequels.

The next Reaganite movie was Red Dawn (1984), directed by John Milius, who wrote Apocalypse Now . When Russian, Cuban, and Nicaraguan Communists invade a small Colorado town, the Wolverines, a group of teenagers who resemble the partisans in World War II movies, resist the attackers. The mayor of the town, who collaborates with the Com-munists, represents politicians. The teenagers run rings around the occupying army for a while, but they fi nally sacrifi ce themselves in a kamikaze- style mission. The movie closes with a shot of Partisan Rock, a monument to the heroes of the resistance.

“Movies like Red Dawn are rapidly preparing America for World War III,” said the chair of the National Coalition on Television Violence, denouncing its 134 acts of violence per hour and labeling it “the most violent fi lm ever seen.” 1 Dismissed by critics as a mediocre action movie, Red Dawn was nevertheless a box offi ce hit. “The ferocity of the American people,” director John Milius smugly observed, “has always been underestimated.” 2 But action rather than politics probably accounts for the popularity of his fi lm. Red Dawn was anti- Communist, but only because Communists were convenient enemies; the bad guys had no perceivable political ideology and could just as easily have been from outer space. The inclusion of Latinos among the invaders distinguished Red Dawn from the anti- Communist movies of the 1950s, but otherwise it was no more politically sophisticated. Ultimately, it was more individualistic than anti- Communist.

Although it is hard to take the politics of Red Dawn seriously, the movie set precedents that other fi lms would soon follow. It revived Communists as convenient enemies, and it proved the marketability of posturing patriots as heroes. Few movies had fallen back on these old stereotypes since the 1950s. After the Cuban missile crisis in 1962, America and the Soviet Union had moved toward détente, and so did the movies. Superpatriot heroes and Communist villains were out of style during the cynical 1960s and 1970s, but in the 1980s, Ronald Reagan made patriotism and anti- Communism okay again, and Red Dawn proved they were good box offi ce.

Once unleashed, Reaganite cinema became even cruder. First Blood and Red Dawn seem sophisticated compared to what followed. Missing in Action (1984) and Invasion U.S.A. (1985) were raw action fl icks starring Chuck Norris, a wooden actor but a supple stuntman. In Missing in Action , Norris plays an escaped prisoner of war who returns to Vietnam with an American senator who is investigating allegations about American soldiers missing in action (MIAs). Discredited by the evil Vietnamese and disowned by the American politician, the hero wreaks havoc on various enemy encampments, prisons, and convoys, saves the MIAs, and brings them back to Ho Chi Minh City to repudiate the Vietnamese liars. Not sur-prisingly, critics did not take Missing in Action seriously. Like other Chuck Norris movies, however, it did well at the box offi ce despite its lack of tension, credibility, and excitement.

In Norris’s other hit, Invasion U.S.A. , he plays an ex- CIA agent who comes out of retire-ment to stop a Russian “invasion” of Florida. Diabolical Communists in various disguises slaughter Cuban refugees, ghetto dwellers, Christmas shoppers, and families in suburban homes, stirring up distrust and unrest and turning people against one another. “America has not been invaded by a foreign enemy in nearly two hundred years,” the Communist villain sneers. “Look at them . . . soft, spineless, decadent. They don’t even understand the nature of

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their own freedom or how we will use it against them. They are their own worst enemies.” The movie confi rms this analysis when cowardly FBI agents phone in sick and spoiled citizens whine about rationing. The “tide of terror” turns into a “threat to democracy,” with demands for martial law and the suspension of the Constitution, but happily, the hero stops the invaders single- handedly. Thanks in part to a larger budget, Invasion U.S.A. was bet-ter than Missing in Action , although neither of Norris’s popular movies really had much to say about politics. International tensions were merely an excuse for violent action, feeding Reaganite anti- Communism.

Rambo’s return was almost as crude, but Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985), written by Sylvester Stallone, was even more popular than the Reaganite movies that preceded it. John Rambo (Stallone again) wins a pardon for his earlier rampage in the woods when he accepts an assignment to fi nd American MIAs in Vietnam. “Do we get to win this time?” Rambo asks his former Green Beret commander (Richard Crenna). He is only supposed to photograph the MIAs for evidence, but he tries to bring one back. The helicopter sent to pick him up abandons them, and the Vietnamese and their Russian advisers capture and torture Rambo. He escapes, slaughters the enemy, frees the MIAs, and leads—or drags—them to safety. He trashes the headquarters of the U.S. mission when he gets back and warns its bureaucratic chief to fi nd the rest of the MIAs or risk the wrath of Rambo. This movie places the blame for the continued captivity of the MIAs squarely on the U.S. government, which fi rst declined to win the war and then refused to pay war reparations to Vietnam in exchange for the MIAs.

In a promotional video for Rambo , Stallone, unlike most fi lmmakers, was forthright in declaring his movie political. “I hope to establish a character that can represent a certain section of the American consciousness,” he said, “and through the entertainment [I also hope to] be educational. . . . More than being just a fi ghting man, [Rambo] represents the entire fi ghting force.” Stallone also claimed that his movie was part of the “pre- stages of a true historical event” in which the existence of the MIAs would be verifi ed. “It’s no big secret,” he declared. “Vietnam wants reparations from us. We don’t want to pay all those bil-lions,” possibly because “our offi cials are being paid off.” Movies like Rambo were popular, Stallone asserted, “because the people are on to something. There’s a thirst for verifi cation.” 3

Despite derisive reviews and Stallone’s pretensions, Rambo was a big hit even though the action was perfunctory. David Morell, author of the novel on which First Blood was based, dismissed Rambo as “a cartoon. On military bases,” Morell said, “they show it as a com-edy.” 4 Others took it more seriously, though few critics liked it. David Halberstam labeled Stallone “a cinematic Joseph McCarthy” for his assertions about the existence of the MIAs and for conveying the “exact reverse of the real message of the Vietnam War.” 5 President Ronald Reagan, on the other hand, admired Stallone’s message. “After seeing Rambo last night,” he joked during a terrorist crisis, “I know what to do next time this happens.” He failed to comment on Rambo ’s contention of U.S. government complacency in freeing the MIAs, however. Stallone concluded his Rambo fi lms with Rambo III in 1988, in which our hero invades Afghanistan. By this time, however, audiences were losing interest.

Anti- Communism also was a theme of Rocky IV and White Nights (both 1985). Stallone wrapped himself in the fl ag for his fourth Rocky fi lm, in which the boxing hero comes out of retirement to defeat a Soviet fi ghter produced by biochemical engineering rather than old- fashioned hard work. The fi ght takes place in Moscow, where a hostile crowd of Communists ends up cheering Rocky as he calls for international understanding in a concluding speech

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that attempts to mitigate the anti- Communism of the rest of the fi lm. This was the only one of the new Cold War fi lms to fail at the box offi ce. White Nights was more successful thanks to the presence of Mikhail Baryshnikov and the direction of Taylor Hackford. An airliner makes an emergency landing in Soviet territory, and a Russian ballet dancer (Baryshnikov) who has defected to the United States is taken captive. He escapes with a black American tap dancer (Gregory Hines) who has defected to the Soviets. Director Hackford played down his movie’s politics, claiming it was “only realistic about artistic freedom,” but Baryshnikov was more accurate when he said, “this fi lm is politically right wing and patriotic.” 6

Iron Eagle , Heartbreak Ridge , and Top Gun (all 1986) soon added to what the Soviet press labeled “war- nography.” In Iron Eagle , an American teenager fl ies to the rescue of his father, whose plane has been shot down over North Africa. The movie praises President Reagan as “this guy who don’t take no shit from no gimpy country,” but Reagan’s govern-ment fails to save the captive pilot, forcing the teenager to do the job himself. Heartbreak Ridge featured a tough career soldier (Clint Eastwood) making men of his trainees, who are ultimately tested in the triumphant invasion of Grenada, a tiny island in the Caribbean.

Top Gun topped them both, though, at least at the box offi ce, becoming the biggest ticket seller of 1986. Maverick (Tom Cruise), the young pilot who must become “top gun,” is obsessed by the memory of his father, who was shot down under mysterious circumstances over Southeast Asia. It turns out that Dad was a hero, but details of his death have been kept secret for political reasons. Maverick ultimately proves himself in a skirmish with an unnamed enemy whose pilots fl y Russian- made MIGs. Top Gun takes such confrontations for granted, beginning with U.S. and enemy jets playing tag and ending in real combat. Lest the audience worry that this incident might trigger World War III, we are told “the other side denied the incident.” The implication that this sort of thing is a daily occurrence may have worried some viewers—all the more so because the U.S. Navy wholeheartedly endorsed and cooperated in the making of this picture. Top Gun is a throwback to old- fashioned war movies, no longer calling for calm vigilance, as did Strategic Air Command in 1955, but advocating confrontational machismo instead. Slick and shallow, it was the essence of Rea-ganite cinema.

This same strutting self- confi dence ran through all the patriotic movies of the Reagan years, but as in other Hollywood eras, this was not the only vision. Although these fi lms seem to exemplify the decade, they were in the minority. Hollywood also produced fi lms about working people and mainstream politics. In fact, fi lms with a conservative perspective were a minority.

Workers, Farmers, Fishermen—and Stockbrokers

In contrast to these patriotic fi lms, another group of movies of the 1980s addressed the economic and political situation of working people, from coal miners and nuclear power workers to farmers, fi shermen—and stockbrokers.

Silkwood (1983), directed by Mike Nichols and written by Nora Ephron and Alice Arlen, was about women, workers, unions, corporate capitalism, and the dangers of nuclear power. Silkwood was stronger than The China Syndrome or Norma Rae on these issues, but also it was edgier. Karen Silkwood (Meryl Streep) is a blue- collar worker and single parent like Norma Rae, but her awakening is slower and far less ecstatic. Karen and her coworkers at a nuclear processing plant are ignorant and confused about their personal lives as well as the

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dangers they are exposed to at work. Even when they become concerned about their safety in the plant, they value their jobs too much to make their concerns public—except for Karen. She becomes an activist on their safety issues, complaining to coworkers, the company, and outsiders. Unlike the inspired, self- sacrifi cing Norma Rae, however, Karen is a cranky sort of activist. She never makes it clear whether her commitment is genuine or she just enjoys challenging authority and stirring things up. Her union encourages her activism, but the local union offi cials are as clueless as she is about how to proceed, and the national union organ-izers are so culturally and geographically distant that we cannot tell whether they really care about her or are just using her as a tool to organize other workers. Karen agitates about the safety issue until it is discovered that she and her house are contaminated with radioactive material, apparently planted by the company to suggest that she has manufactured the crisis. Then, while on her way to give evidence of falsifi ed safety records to the New York Times , she is killed in an auto wreck. Here the movie hedges: ominous headlights behind her sug-gest murder, but a postscript to the fi lm notes that there was evidence of drugs in her blood, implying that she might have died accidentally.

Silkwood was nominated for four Academy Awards, but did less well at the box offi ce than Norma Rae and The China Syndrome . Historical accuracy became a key issue in oth-erwise mostly good reviews, with the New York Times criticizing the movie in an editorial and the Village Voice persuasively denouncing the fi lm as a slur on Karen Silkwood. 7 The fi lmmakers invited such criticism by using a true story about a woman who had become a folk hero of the left, although as the Voice pointed out, they also had the advantage of fi ve years of free publicity, including stories of the massive damage suit against Silkwood’s employers.

Silkwood also made itself vulnerable to criticism by its refusal to take sides. It was ambig-uous about Karen’s character and motivations, the good faith of the union, the culpability of the company, and even her death. The movie kept its focus on working- class characters who did not blossom like Norma Rae but remained minimally articulate and self- aware and there-fore less sympathetic than the white- collar professionals of The China Syndrome . Silkwood bravely let the audience decide about the characters, allowing Karen Silkwood to be more human than the usual heroine. For some, particularly the partisans of the real- life Silkwood, that made for an unsatisfying fi lm with no point of view. Without knowing whether Karen’s death was murder or a drug- induced accident, audiences could not be angry with the culprits or sad at the tragedy.

In 1984, the focus shifted from blue- collar laborers to rural workers in what came to be known as “the farm trilogy.” Places in the Heart , The River , and Country all featured beleaguered small farmers fi ghting the elements and the banks, and they all featured strong women. Places in the Heart starred Sally Field as another plucky heroine who overcomes adversity, this time with the help of a child, a blind lodger, and an itinerant black. Places in the Heart was less political than the other two farm movies, however, because it was safely set in the past and because it was mainly about brave human beings triumphing over adver-sity by determination and hard work. The most popular of the farm movies, it won Oscars for Sally Field and scriptwriter Robert Benton.

The River was also about a determined individual, but although Tom Garvey (Mel Gibson) is determined, he is unable to save his farm by himself. His wife Mae (Sissy Spacek) is the real backbone of the family, working the farm on her own when Tom goes to the city to scab in a steel mill, a moving sequence that manages to communicate both why scabbing is bad

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and why people do it. But determination and hard work are not enough to save the farm. A greedy agribusinessman pressures the state to build a dam to irrigate his massive holdings and hires down- and- out farmers to break up the levee Tom has built to protect his land, but in the end the farmers turn on the agribusinessman and help the small farmer in a scene reminiscent of the ditch sequence in Our Daily Bread . The loser is unperturbed, however. “We’ll win in the end,” he says, “because we can outlast you.” Nominated for four Academy Awards, The River was a modest success despite criticism of its sentimentality.

Country was the least sentimental of the farm movies; its small farmers are even more reserved and inarticulate than Karen Silkwood and her friends. Director Richard Pearce distanced them from us with few close- ups and little sentimentality. Just as we suspect that Karen Silkwood might be a troublemaker rather than a true believer, here we wonder if the farmers’ diffi culties are their own fault. Again, a strong woman (Jessica Lange) holds her farm family together as her husband (Sam Shepard) crumbles when their government loan is called in. They win at least a stay of execution, however, when she organizes the neighboring farmers to resist the government. As in The River , collective action saves the day, although we are not sure for how long. Like Field and Spacek, Jessica Lange was nominated for an Academy Award for her performance, but Country ’s unsentimental restraint appealed less to audiences than did the other farm movies.

Although far from radical, all three of these movies were critical of American farm policy. Inspired by foreclosures on small farms that were much in the news in the early 1980s, these movies may have taken on the subject after it was too late to affect the policy, just as the movies about Vietnam had come too late to affect the war. Of the three fi lms, only Country seemed to address government policy directly, but its makers were nervous enough about its politics in the year of Reagan’s reelection that they refused benefi t showings for politi-cal causes to avoid “politicizing the fi lm” and insisted that its “villain [was] not the Reagan administration,” but monolithic bureaucracy and “government apathy.” 8

A little later in the decade, small farmers battled big developers in another part of the country in The Milagro Beanfi eld War (1988), directed by Robert Redford, one of America’s most political fi lmmakers. His entertaining fi lm, which mixed Capra and magical realism, may have been a little too whimsical for most audiences, but it was one of the fi rst to feature a southwestern setting and a range of positive Latino characters as well as a different sort of political battle.

Fishermen rather than farmers fi ght government in Alamo Bay (1985), directed by Louis Malle and written by Alice Arlen, coauthor of Silkwood . “We defend everybody all over the world, but there ain’t no protection for any American, and that ain’t right,” declares one fi sh-erman, Pierce (Ed Harris), when hardworking Vietnamese immigrants drive him and other white shrimp fi shermen out of business in the recession- struck Gulf of Mexico. Another (Amy Madigan) tries to save her small business by trading with the Vietnamese, but the Ku Klux Klan takes advantage of the white fi shermen’s frustration to foment violence. Thanks to the resolve of Malle and Arlen, we sympathize with the immigrants but also understand the frustration of the white fi shermen.

John Sayles, perhaps America’s preeminent independent fi lmmaker, took audiences to the coal mines of West Virginia in the 1920s in Matewan (1987). Chris Cooper plays a union organizer encouraging white and black miners to join together to fi ght the repressive coal companies and their strikebreaking thugs. Beautifully fi lmed by Haskell Wexler, Matewan is a powerful and moving evocation of the plight of the miners and the divisive, brutal tactics

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of the mine owners, although its sympathy for the miners is so complete that at times it seems simplistic and one- sided.

Alamo Bay and Matewan are perceptive studies of the situation confronted by the people at the bottom of America’s economic heap. Like the equally reserved Silkwood and Country , they resolutely reject easy solutions. Together, these fi lms constitute an indictment of Ameri-can capitalism—a message audiences may not have wanted to hear in the age of Reagan. Norma Rae , The China Syndrome , and The River shared the liberalism of these movies, although these fi lms, along with Places in the Heart , were far more affi rmative about the possibility of taking action. All of these movies focused on workers, whether on farms and shrimp boats or in mines, mills, and power plants, at a time when yuppies were capturing the nation’s attention. These fi lms also featured strong women, making them feminist in varying degrees, even as the equal rights amendment failed to win ratifi cation.

The appearance of these movies in such times was largely due to the new independence of fi lmmakers. Only The River was produced by one of the old studios (Columbia), although big studios were involved to some degree in most of the others. But the reception of these fi lms suggested that the country was not as deeply conservative as its enthusiasm for Ron-ald Reagan seemed to indicate. Most of these movies were favorably reviewed, and all but Alamo Bay were honored with Academy Awards or nominations. Some were box offi ce hits as well.

But the biggest hit in this minigenre of fi lms about capitalism was Wall Street (1987). Like the other movies, Wall Street was critical of capitalism—more powerfully and explicitly than the others—but its primary capitalist character was such a potent creation that he is prob-ably better remembered than the movie’s overall anticapitalist message. Directed by Oliver Stone, Wall Street features Michael Douglas in the Oscar- winning role of Gordon Gekko, a ruthless Wall Street broker. The sleek Gekko revels in his work, wheeling and dealing, buy-ing and selling, insider trading and corporate raiding, because “it’s all about bucks.” In the most famous scene in the movie, Gekko declares “Greed is good!” as he lectures enraptured shareholders. Charlie Sheen plays Bud, Gekko’s protégé, and it is through his eyes that we see the battle between good, represented by Bud’s working- class father (Martin Sheen), and evil, represented by the greedy Gekko. But as Roger Ebert observed, “The movie’s real target isn’t Wall Street criminals who break the law. Stone’s target is the value system that places profi ts and wealth and the Deal above any other consideration. His fi lm is an attack on an atmosphere of fi nancial competitiveness so ferocious that ethics are simply irrelevant.” 9

Electoral Politics, Courts, and Bureaucracy

As political—or politicized—as the fi lms of the 1980s were, few focused on electoral poli-tics or government like the fi lms of Robert Redford in the 1970s or Frank Capra in the 1940s, and none found the audiences of those fi lms.

The courts and the legal system, on the other hand, received more cinematic scrutiny in this decade than in most others, perhaps because they were safer subjects or just because crime always pays at the movies. Robert Redford played a reforming prison warden in Brubaker (1980), but the movie’s central political theme had to do with compromise. Urged to make concessions to the conservative powers- that- be, Brubaker refuses and ultimately loses. Since Robert Redford plays Brubaker, we take his side and accept the movie’s con-demnation of compromises. Sidney Lumet examined pervasive police corruption in Prince

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of the City (1981), featuring informers as heroes. The Verdic t (1982) reiterated Lumet’s faith in the jury system as a desperate attorney (Paul Newman) defeats corrupt judges, lawyers, doctors, and hospital administrators.

The U.S. Supreme Court took center stage in Ronald Neame’s considerably lighter First Monday in October (1981), which also raised the issue of compromise. Here Jill Clayburgh plays a conservative antipornography campaigner from California’s Republican stronghold Orange County who becomes the fi rst woman member of the court. Walter Matthau is her liberal antagonist, a justice committed to free speech even if it is smutty. The workings of the court are instructively presented, and the antagonists debate the meaning of the First Amend-ment credibly if simplistically. A crisis arises when the integrity of the conservative justice is impugned by the revelation that her late husband helped cover up the secrets of an ominous corporation. She prepares to resign, but her liberal colleague talks her out of it, despite their ideological disagreements.

First Monday is reminiscent of a Tracy–Hepburn movie, but it barely touches on romance. The ideological rivalry of the Clayburgh and Matthau characters develops instead into a solid working relationship, as the movie lauds rational debate among honorable people. First Monday reiterates the big- bad- business theme, but its main message is that decent people can have differing views and that these views need not be based on self- interest or corrup-tion. Above all, the movie respects court politics and tells us that the system works. Given the public antagonism to liberal judges dating back to the civil and criminal rights decisions of the 1950s and 1960s, the movie seems a virtual defense of the courts. First Monday in October is innocuous, but unlike many American political fi lms, it respects politics and the people who participate in it. The critics were unenthusiastic, but the movie had respectable box offi ce results thanks to its optimism, its cast, and its good timing: First Monday was released just as President Reagan appointed Sandra Day O’Connor, an Arizona conservative, as the fi rst woman justice of the U.S. Supreme Court.

Less optimistic but more in keeping with popular prejudice was Peter Hyams’s The Star Chamber (1983), with Michael Douglas as a young, liberal judge frustrated by the legal loopholes used by attorneys to get their guilty clients off. Another judge (Hal Holbrook) introduces him to the Star Chamber, a group of renegade judges who take the law into their own hands by hiring hit men to murder criminals who have avoided punishment through legal niceties. After unleashing the Star Chamber on an innocent man, the young liberal has second thoughts, however, and betrays the vigilante judges. Torn between action sequences to hold audience interest and its political themes, the message of The Star Chamber is ambivalent at best. First it says that protecting defendants subverts justice, giving approval to the Star Chamber’s punishment of wrongdoers, all of whom happen to be members of minority groups or of the lower class and who also happen to be so repulsive that they seem to deserve what they get. Perhaps to minimize offense, the fi lmmakers include a woman and a black in the avenging Star Chamber. In the end, however, this judicial elite gets its come-uppance, too. Only the young judge and the black cop who break up the Star Chamber come off well. All things considered, this is a law- and- order movie, covering its exploitation of social prejudice and lust for vengeance with a liberal gloss, condemning and then upholding the system, but never resolving the question of whether the law gives too much or too little protection to those accused of crime.

Another fi lm of the 1980s touched on politics more obliquely itself, but was expected to make a big splash in real- life politics. The Right Stuff (1983), adapted from Tom Wolfe’s best

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seller and directed by Philip Kaufman, was about America’s fi rst astronauts, one of whom, John Glenn, was a senator and a serious contender for the Democratic presidential nomina-tion in 1984.

The Right Stuff contrasts the men who became astronauts with test pilot Chuck Yeager (Sam Shepard), who did not, making it clear that he is too much of an individual to jump through hoops and conform, as the others willingly do. In the movie, John Glenn (Ed Harris) and the other astronauts attain success by compromise and conformity, but we know they have kept their integrity. They have the right stuff, especially in contrast with the crude reporters, foolish politicians, and offensive hangers- on with whom the movie surrounds its heroes.

President Reagan and Glenn’s Democratic opponents feared that The Right Stuff would provide the astronaut’s candidacy with a powerful send- off, but both the movie and the campaign fl opped. Although Glenn ultimately comes off well in The Right Stuff , the movie was not enough to save his presidential campaign. Some fi lm industry people thought asso-ciation with the politician jinxed the fi lm, because “no one would pay to see a movie they thought was a political polemic.” 10 Unenthusiastic reviews and the movie’s reluctance to play the astronauts as either buffoons or heroes did not help either, and the movie failed fi nancially.

Another group of fi lms of the 1980s addressed concerns about technology and nuclear war. John Badham’s WarGames (1983) and Short Circuit (1986) and Marshall Brickman’s The Manhattan Project (1986) played to youthful audiences by featuring teenage heroes, but unlike the confrontational, patriotic Top Gun and Iron Eagle , these fi lms expressed liberal concern about nuclear apocalypse. The threat in all three fi lms comes from uncontrollable technology, and, in all three, teenage nerds—considerably more credible heroes than the beefcakes of the other movies—avert disaster. These fi lms also raised the issue of accidental nuclear war, a subject that had been ignored since the 1960s, although they did so mainly as a premise for action and entertainment. Critics were unimpressed, but WarGames , at least, was a box offi ce hit.

Protocol (1984), directed by Herbert Ross and written by Buck Henry, was also a popu-lar success. Almost a “Ms. Smith Goes to Washington,” it centers on Sunny Ann Davis (Goldie Hawn), a Washington cocktail waitress who accidentally foils an assassin. The Arab potentate she saves takes a fancy to her, and the State Department cynically offers her as a pawn in negotiations for a military base. Sunny, who has never voted, becomes a protocol offi cer and does a fast study of American government, which is presented in a montage of Washington reminiscent of Mr. Smith’s arrival or our introduction to Joe Tynan. But when Sunny travels to the Middle East, her visit precipitates a coup d’état and a scandal. Testifying before a congressional committee investigating “Sunnygate,” the heroine refuses to blame the bureaucrats who set her up. “I’m responsible,” she declares. When Congress acts, “it has a direct effect on we the people’s lives, so if we don’t—I mean if I don’t—know what you’re up to, and if I don’t holler and scream when I think you’re doing it wrong, and if I just mind my own business and don’t vote or care, then I just get what I deserve, so now that I’m Sunny Davis, a private citizen, again, you’re going to have to watch out for me, ’cause I’m gonna be watching all you . . . like a hawk.” Sunny gets the guy and is elected to Con-gress, too. The critics derided Protocol , but audiences liked the comedy, and they also may have liked the movie’s trite, but positive, message of individual responsibility. As familiar from old movies as the president himself, the message fi ts almost as well with Reaganite

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philosophy as did Rambo or Top Gun . It was even antigovernment in the same way Reagan was, mistrusting bureaucrats and Congress in particular.

Another movie of the era focused more explicitly and seriously on politics, but was less successful than Protocol . In Sidney Lumet’s Power (1986), Richard Gere is a political media wizard who tells clients, “My job is to get you in. Then you do whatever your conscience tells you to do.” Using opinion polls and clever TV ads, he cynically packages candidates to fi t what the public wants. He is fi nally disillusioned, however, when he discovers he is being used by Arab oil sheiks seeking to block solar energy legislation. Confronting an idealistic young candidate being managed by a rival media man, the campaign consultant denounces his own profession and tells the budding politician to say what he really believes. He does, and he gets more votes than expected, although he still does not win. The fi lm ends with “The Stars and Stripes Forever” playing as the camera pans over video equipment and computers—the new tools of politics.

Like Lumet’s Network , Power was over the top, but while Network succeeded as black comedy, Power was just melodrama. The villains of Power are neither funny nor credible, and the good guys are incredibly naive. Director Lumet and writer David Himmelstein ignore the fact that politicians have always manipulated voters, blaming the sad state of the nation almost entirely on new technology and the gullibility of the public. All politicians in the fi lm are willing dupes, except for one female governor (Michael Learned). Power ’s insights into the techniques used by media consultants were instructive, but the movie grossly exagger-ated their infl uence. Critics panned it and audiences ignored it, despite the popular successes of Lumet’s other fi lms.

Old and New Left Nostalgia in the Age of Reagan

While patriotic fi lms from Rambo to Top Gun seemed to catch the conservative spirit of the 1980s, the decade also produced a surprising number of fi lms with liberal themes and char-acters, heroes, and stories of the political left.

Most prominent of these was Warren Beatty’s Reds (1981). Long one of Hollywood’s most politically active stars, Beatty used his box offi ce clout and success as a producer to make one of America’s most important political fi lms. He was the fi lm’s star, director, pro-ducer, and coauthor. The subject of Reds is John Reed, the left- wing journalist whose books about his experiences in the Mexican and Russian revolutions were classics and who was the only American ever to be honored by burial in the Kremlin Wall. Beatty had been interested in Reed since a visit to Russia in the 1960s, when aging revolutionaries told him he looked like the writer.

We meet Reed as he offends a social gathering in Portland, Oregon, with his left- wing views and meets Louise Bryant (Diane Keaton), a local woman who feels stifl ed by provin-cial society. She wants to write and shows Reed her work. He invites her to return to New York with him. “What as?” she asks, fearing she will still be trapped in a subordinate role when independence is what she most desires. She goes with him, however, and joins an exciting society of left- wing artists and intellectuals in Greenwich Village.

Reed is driven by his political commitment, constantly dashing off somewhere to write about and sometimes participate in political events. Bryant complains, impatiently con-demning his need for “another shot of limelight.” When she has an affair, they get married and settle down in a cozy cottage with a puppy. But he is still peripatetic, and she is still

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discontented. Finally, she leaves him to go to France, where she writes unsuccessfully about World War I. Reed follows and persuades her to join him in Russia, where the revolution is under way. Caught up in the spirit of events, they share the excitement of the revolution, of which they eventually become a part. Reds evokes the chaos of that confl ict as well as the intoxicating meetings of workers, so we are with Reed when he rises to speak at a turbulent rally. “We’ll join you in revolution!” he proclaims on behalf of American workers. At the end of his speech, the crowd separates Reed and Bryant. They struggle toward each other, and at the fi lm’s midpoint they make love while outside a marching crowd sings the rousing “Internationale.” Political, professional, and personal commitments come together in one glorious—or ludicrous—moment.

Reed and Bryant return to America. She lectures; he writes his classic Ten Days That Shook the World . Reed joins one of the contending Communist factions and prepares to return to Russia to have it recognized as the offi cial party in America. “You’re not a politi-cian,” Louise protests. “You’re a writer. . . . You’re an artist.” He goes anyway, and the party orders him to stay and work on propaganda. He fi nds that his old friend Emma Goldman (Maureen Stapleton) has grown disillusioned with the revolution. “The dream is dying,” she sighs. “The centralized state has all the power. They’re putting anarchists like me in jail, exterminating all dissenters.” “What did you think, anyway?” Reed responds. “It was going to work right away?” The party sends him on a tour to speak on behalf of American work-ers in support of the revolution. When a party offi cial edits his speech, he is offended. “You don’t rewrite what I write,” he insists, repeating one of his catch phrases and reminding us he is an artist.

Reed seems to be growing disillusioned, but before further political developments occur, we return to Louise, now determined to join him. Getting into revolutionary Russia

Directed by Hollywood leftist Warren Beatty, Reds (1981) also stars Beatty as real- life radical American journalist John Reed during the Communist revolution in Russia.

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is diffi cult, however, and she makes a Zhivago- like journey through the snowy wastes of Finland. The lovers rush toward each other through yet another crowd and are tearfully reunited. Reed promptly falls ill. He promises Louise they will go on together and again she asks, “What as?” “Comrades,” he says, and dies.

Beatty’s emphasis on the personal life of his protagonists was a concession to Hollywood tradition that made his lavish epic more romantic than political. John and Louise could almost be Rhett and Scarlett. Unlike Gone With the Wind , however, Reds is true except for a few incidents. Reed and Bryant were real American radicals, members of a group whose history, unlike that of the landed aristocracy of the antebellum South, had been ignored by Hollywood. Reds also was distinguished by Beatty’s innovative use of “witnesses”—real people, some of them famous, whose reminiscences about Reed are interspersed throughout the fi lm, giving Beatty’s epic resonance and credibility and making it more than a romance. Their disagreements and confusion warn that memory, and therefore history, are fallible. “I’d forgotten all about them,” one witness says of Reed and Bryant. “Were they socialists?” The witnesses validate some parts of Reds and challenge others, but even their disagreements strengthen the movie by reminding us that the fi lm itself is just one interpretation of history.

Beatty claimed his fi lm was “reclaiming history” by telling a story about the left when it was still a viable force in American politics or, as he put it, at the last historical moment before America’s ideology “hardened.” 11 One critic dismissed his efforts as “nostalgia of the left,” 12 but nostalgia or not, Reds dealt with a history that had been lost for most Americans. The antiwar movement of World War I, the American Socialist and Communist parties and their factions, the Wobblies, Eugene Debs, Emma Goldman, and Big Bill Haywood are a part of our past, and we should know about them, whether or not we share their values.

Reds was far from purely left- wing in its point of view, however. The movie had it both ways, leaning Red in its choice of heroes and heroines and its initial romantic view of the Russian Revolution, but anti- Red in its ultimate portrait of Soviet totalitarianism. The fi lm withheld fi nal judgment by implying rather than explicitly stating Reed’s disillusionment. On another level, Reds had it both ways by emphasizing the individualism of people who advocated collective politics, not only by focusing on their personal lives but by insisting on artistic integrity (“You don’t rewrite what I write”).

Reds never made the political values of its characters clear, nor did it defi ne the class confl ict on which real- life politics in both the United States and Russia then centered. It was a more personal than political fi lm, although it was at its most trite when it dwelled on the purely personal with its quaint cottage, cute puppy, and clumsy man in the kitchen. This was presumably a commercial choice made by Beatty; screenwriter Trevor Griffi ths’s original script was more political than romantic. But at least Reds respected politics as an important part of its characters’ lives, and unlike most American fi lms, it also showed the importance of work in people’s lives. Indeed, the greatest strength of Reds may be its presentation of the way personal lives blend with work, careers, and politics. And Reds was more complex and willing to question than most movies about politics. The witnesses and the positive picture of the Russian Revolution and America’s radical past also were worthwhile contributions.

The reviews of Reds were generally good, although many pointed out that Beatty’s poli-tics were more cautious than radical. The New York Times called it old- fashioned American optimism, about “as ideological as the puppy.” 13 Andrew Sarris was more enthusiastic, praising Reds as an “open- minded historical inquiry” with the “clang of paradox and

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contradiction.” 14 With twelve Academy Award nominations, Reds looked set to dominate the 1981 Oscars, but it won awards only for Best Director, Best Cinematography, and Best Supporting Actress (Stapleton). On accepting his own award, Beatty thanked Paramount and Gulf and Western, which then owned Paramount, as capitalists willing “to fi nance a three- and- a- half- hour romance which attempts to reveal for the fi rst time just something of the beginnings of American socialism and American communism” and gave credit to the “freedom of expression that we have in American society and the lack of censorship we have from the government or the people who put up the money.” 15 But despite three Oscars and good reviews, Beatty’s very expensive picture was a fi nancial failure. Audiences did not like the witness technique as much as critics did, and many found the fi lm long, boring, and even silly.

Despite the fi nancial disappointment of Reds , American fi lmmakers continued to make political movies, but not on such a grand scale—and even less ambitious political movies had diffi culty fi nding investors. Sidney Lumet’s Daniel (1983), a thorny examination of left- wing history, was produced by the artists themselves with no studio assistance at all. Lumet had been directing political movies since making Twelve Angry Men in 1957. He dealt with informers in A View from the Bridge (1961), nuclear war in Fail Safe (1964), feminism in The Group (1966), police corruption in Serpico (1973) and Prince of the City (1981), homosexuality in Dog Day Afternoon (1975), and corporate control of television in Network (1976). All these movies treated controversial issues in complex and interesting ways, rarely oversimplifying, resorting to clichés, or making their messages unnecessar-ily obvious. Lumet shunned the “political” label, however. Even Daniel , he claimed, was simply “about parents and children and the damage people do without meaning to.” 16

Daniel (Timothy Hutton) is the son of the Isaacsons, Jewish Communists who, like the real- life Rosenbergs, are executed as Soviet agents. The story of their death is told from their son’s point of view, connecting the two generations and showing how one affects the other. Daniel is disillusioned, alienated, and apolitical, cruel to his young wife, harsh to his adoptive family, and impatient with his neurotic sister. While he retreats deeper and deeper into himself, his sister tries drugs and then political activism. He hates the memory of their parents while she venerates it, but in the end she goes insane and commits suicide whereas Daniel fi nally makes peace with himself and his memories and takes a step toward political commitment by joining an antiwar demonstration.

Like Reds , Daniel restores a part of the history of the left by showing its rallies and con-certs as well as its paranoia and persecution. The Isaacsons’s guilt or innocence is never clear in the fi lm, although their apparent poverty and innocent activism make them seem unlikely spies. Whether innocent or merely complicit, however, their children were damaged, and Lumet claimed that this was the subject of his movie. His point was that the parents’ com-mitment beyond the family destroyed the children. This gloomy view of family psychology contradicted the affi rmative ending of his movie, however. Daniel’s wife and child are with him as he joins the antiwar demonstration. Commitment had separated Daniel from his par-ents, yet for him it is salvation, perhaps because he embraces it with his family.

Like Lumet’s other fi lms, Daniel was dark and depressing, with complex characters, few of whom were likable. That did not keep audiences away from Lumet’s earlier movies, but Daniel was more political, despite the director’s denials. Critics picked at its family neuroses and exploitation of the Rosenbergs. Some thought the family melodrama muddled its poli-tics. “Political movies are damned if they do, and damned if they don’t,” observed Andrew

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Sarris. 17 If they make their political point clear, people may dislike the message or its obvi-ousness, but if the point is not clear, people fi nd the fi lm muddled and confusing.

Lumet followed Daniel with Running on Empty in 1988. Judd Hirsh and Christine Lahti portray radicals who, in the 1960s, blew up a lab that made napalm, unintentionally killing a janitor. They have been on the run from the FBI ever since, repeatedly uprooting their chil-dren out of sheer paranoia or when the FBI closes in. The fi lm’s crisis occurs when their son (River Phoenix) approaches high- school graduation and must choose between joining his family in their next move or going on with his life and a career as a musician. But although past political actions set up the situation, Running on Empty is not really about politics. Even more than Daniel , it is about families and the repercussions of past acts. The message of both fi lms could be read as a warning against radical action, despite Lumet’s liberal reputa-tion. Despite its fi ne cast and good acting, reviews of Running on Empty were mixed (some critics loved the movie whereas others found it melodramatic and simplistic), and audiences ignored it. Although nostalgia was a theme of the Reagan years, Reds , Daniel , and Running on Empty suggest that audiences were not nostalgic about America’s left- wing history—even though all three movies emphasized powerful personal stories as well as political themes.

Another little group of movies dealt with the activists of the 1960s and 1970s more gently, though not much more successfully as far as critics and audiences were concerned. Milos Forman’s Hair, a counterculture musical about the 1960s, was belatedly fi lmed in 1979, and several fi lmmakers took up the stories of 1960s activists and idealists as they matured. The fates of three Harvard students of the 1960s are assessed in A Small Circle of Friends (1980), but this movie attributes the past activism of the trio to personal relations rather than to poli-tics, thus trivializing the political involvement of a whole generation.

The Return of the Secaucus Seven (1980) focused on the reunion of a group of 1960s activ-ists who were once arrested in Secaucus, New Jersey, en route to an antiwar demonstration in Washington, DC. Followers rather than leaders, the seven were marginal to the antiwar movement and yet were affected by it. Writer and director John Sayles made the limits of his characters’ political involvement clear, but without belittling 1960s activism. The Big Chill (1983), directed by Lawrence Kasdan, was a strikingly similar fi lm—some said a rip- off—about a weekend reunion of 1960s pals, but it reached a much larger audience. The group reunites because of the suicide of its dominant member. These idealists of that decade have sold out, however, to become career- oriented professionals. Their friend’s death symbolizes the death of the values of the 1960s. 1969 (1988), written and directed by Ernest Thompson, may have unintentionally contributed to the death of those values. Robert Downey Jr. and Kiefer Sutherland play 1960s college students caught up in the counterculture and antiwar movement. They return to their small hometown and clash melodramatically with their fami-lies. Critics derided 1969 ’s phony sense of place and time as well as its shallow politics.

Hair , A Small Circle of Friends , The Return of the Secaucus Seven , The Big Chill , and 1969 all looked back nostalgically on the 1960s, but the popular and entertaining Big Chill most clearly defi ned the 1980s attitude toward that generation. These movies were about shattered dreams and aging, not politics. Their characters represented the attitudes of many of their generation, and their stories should be told, but among these fi lms only Secaucus Seven managed to treat the politics of the 1960s with respect and accuracy. Other fi lms derided, trivialized, and fi nally scorned the activism and social concern of the period.

Some of the movies that looked to previous political eras, however, showed respect for political commitment. Reds made commitment seem exciting and rewarding while admitting

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its costs. The psychological price of involvement was higher in Daniel , but in the end it was seen as a means of salvation. Even the fi lms that look back to the 1960s mourn the loss of commitment. It seemed that in the 1980s, people missed commitment even though they were too fearful, cynical, or self- absorbed to believe in it anymore. They did not fl ock to these fi lms, however. Reds was a critical success, but only The Big Chill was a box offi ce hit. Perhaps its portrait of sold- out idealists made it more in tune with its times than the other movies.

America and the Third World

Except for fi lms about wars, few American movies in the twentieth century dealt with international politics. After Vietnam, America grew cautious about its international role, grappling with the limits of power and struggling toward a foreign policy that emphasized détente, human rights, and a new respect for the third world. Under President Jimmy Carter, the nation turned almost isolationist. Because of Vietnam jitters, neoisolationism, and Carter’s support of human rights and nonintervention, the United States stood by as two of its authoritarian allies, the shah of Iran and President Anastasio Somoza of Nicaragua, were overthrown. A guerrilla war started in El Salvador. Another war was under way in Angola, and unrest was increasing in South Africa. (Two fi lms with international directors and writ-ers, Cry Freedom [1987] and A Dry White Season [1989], dealt with that subject.) In 1980, the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan, but the United States took no action. When Ronald Reagan became president, however, American foreign policy changed. Human rights were of little concern; interventionism was back. This change soon showed up in the movies, with most fi lmmakers fi rmly opposed to Reagan’s foreign policy, especially as applied to Latin America. Their movies were among the most critical ever made about America and its for-eign policy, yet some were popular and critical successes.

Hollywood, like the nation, ignored Latin America for a long time, venturing south of the border only occasionally for a big movie like Juarez or Viva Zapata! or for settings for costume epics and musicals. The movies also ignored Hispanic- Americans, except for occasional appearances as stereotypical bandits, whores, maids, or venal generals. Then the revolutions in Nicaragua and El Salvador and the growing assertiveness of America’s huge Hispanic population pushed Latin America back into the national consciousness.

In the 1980s, more Hispanics showed up in the movies. Zoot Suit (1981) told the story of the Sleepy Lagoon murders and the anti- Mexican riots in Los Angeles during World War II. The Border (1981), coauthored by Deric Washburn ( The Deer Hunter ) and director Tony Richardson, shifted the focus to an Anglo immigration offi cer (Jack Nicholson) on the Mexi-can border. The exploitation and corruption of the border are seen through his tired, cynical eyes, but he at least tries to help a Mexican girl (Elpidia Carrillo).

By contrast, El Norte (1983) was a low- budget production fi lmed in Spanish and featur-ing unknown actors. Told from the point of view of two young Guatemalan immigrants to the United States, according to director and coauthor Gregory Nava, the fi lm focused on their personal story because “an overtly political fi lm . . . would have put off too many peo-ple. As it is, left, right, and center seem to like it and political people can easily make the connections.” 18 El Norte left little doubt that the immigrants were refugees from an oppres-sive system or that they were exploited once they arrived in this country, but by understating their case, Nava and coauthor Anna Thomas made viewers sympathetic to the immigrants

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without giving offense. They rejected suggestions to cast stars like Robbie Benson and Brooke Shields in the leads and to make the protagonists lovers rather than brother and sister because such compromises, although they would have made it easier to raise money for the independent production, would have blurred the fi lm’s focus. The writers’ judgment proved valid. El Norte won good reviews and was a small- scale hit.

Movies set in Latin America itself were more popular than border stories, however, especially when they featured big stars and plenty of action. Missing (1982) was the fi rst of these and also Costa- Gavras’s fi rst American production in English. A Greek- born citi-zen of France and one of the world’s fi nest and most political directors, Costa- Gavras fi rst examined American involvement in Latin America in State of Siege (1973), the story of the kidnapping of a CIA agent (Yves Montand) by Uruguay’s Tupamaro guerrillas, but Missing was a more accessible, traditional fi lm that reached a much bigger audience.

In Missing , Charlie Horman (John Shea), a nice young American living in Chile with his wife Beth (Sissy Spacek), disappears in the aftermath of the coup that brought down the popularly elected Marxist government of Salvador Allende. When Beth and the American embassy cannot fi nd him, Charlie’s father Ed (Jack Lemmon), an all- American conservative, arrives, suspecting that his son got himself into trouble with his political dabbling. Gradually he comes to share Beth’s belief that the American bureaucrats are duplicitous and that Char-lie has disappeared not because of anything he did, but because he was with a tourist friend in the town that was the base for American involvement in the coup and he saw too much.

After visiting a stadium full of political prisoners and a morgue full of bodies, Ed con-fronts the American offi cials. They confi rm that Charlie has been killed by the Chilean military. Ed is outraged. “I do not think that they would dare do a thing like that unless an American offi cial co- signed the kill order,” he says. “Why would we want him dead?” the ambassador asks. “Probably because he knew of our involvement in the coup,” Ed answers, calling the ambassador’s denial “a bald- faced lie.” A CIA man effectively admits complic-ity in Charlie’s death, telling Ed that his “kid . . . was a snoop” who deserved what he got. “If you hadn’t been personally involved,” the ambassador explains to Ed, “you’d have been sitting at home, complacent and more or less oblivious to all this. This mission is pledged to protect American interests. . . . There are over three thousand U.S. fi rms doing business down here. Those are American interests. In other words, your interests. I’m concerned with the preservation of a way of life.”

Until this scene, Costa- Gavras exercised uncharacteristic restraint in making his political points. Charlie is clearly a harmless do- gooder caught up in the violence of Latin Ameri-can politics. Ed is a skeptical father who gradually learns about the brutality of the coup and becomes aware of American complicity. As we follow Ed through the learning process, we come to share his rage. U.S. offi cials, the fi lm tells us, have helped overthrow a foreign govern-ment, lied to their own citizens, and possibly approved of the death of an innocent American.

Missing was a box offi ce hit and nominated for several Academy Awards, winning for Best Script. Mixed reviews praised the fi lm’s pacing and performances, but some thought its politics were too blatant whereas others objected to its conclusions. Like Silkwood , Miss-ing was based on a true story, and also like that movie, it was attacked for distorting the record. The State Department denied the movie’s allegations, whereas a left- leaning critic condemned Costa- Gavras for focusing on individuals, saying it was odd “to see a European fi lmmaker falling into . . . one of the ways Americans hide from the concrete realities of the rest of the world.” 19

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Missing would have been strengthened by the presence of one or two strong Chilean characters to point out the devastating impact of the coup on them, but Costa- Gavras chose characters with whom Americans would identify. Focusing on Chileans would have diverted attention from his primary concern, American involvement. It also could have reduced the confl ict to Chilean good guys and American bad guys, which would not have been as per-suasive to American audiences as the all- American confrontation he chose instead. Through these characters and dramatic devices, Costa- Gavras conveyed the extent of American involvement in the coup. Missing did what a political movie should do: it entertained people and it made a point. The controversy over the fi lm’s interpretation of historical fact only confi rmed its power.

Critics raised similar objections to Under Fire (1983), another fi lm about U.S. involve-ment in Latin America seen through the eyes of Americans. Photographer Russell Price (Nick Nolte) joins his friends Alex (Gene Hackman) and Claire (Joanne Cassidy) in Nica-ragua, where the Sandinista revolutionaries are about to overthrow Somoza, a right- wing dictator. Alex leaves for a job as a network anchorman; Russell and Claire become lovers and grow sympathetic to the revolution, which the fi lm tells us is totally justifi able. When the rebels need to persuade the media and the people that their recently deceased leader is alive, they ask Russell to fake a photo of the leader. Considering it a violation of his jour-nalistic integrity, he fi rst resists, then gives in, sure that the revolution is a worthy cause. Then he discovers that some photos he shot at the rebel camp are being used by the CIA to identify rebel activists so they can be captured and killed. As Somoza’s regime collapses, Alex returns to Nicaragua and demands that Russell arrange an interview with the (dead) rebel leader. Before the request can be dealt with, Somoza’s national guard shoots Alex. Rus-sell photographs the killing, and the fi lm suggests that the anchorman’s death outrages the American public, resulting in the withdrawal of U.S. support for Somoza and affecting the revolution, as the photographer had hoped his fake picture would.

Under Fire clearly sides with the rebels, but an antirevolutionary perspective is forcefully stated by a CIA agent (Jean- Louis Trintignant) and a mercenary (Ed Harris). All revolutions turn to dictatorships, they tell the idealistic journalists, so what difference does the revolu-tion make? More insultingly, the mercenary says that the journalists are paid to do their jobs, just like him. “See you in Thailand,” he says as the fi lm ends.

Under Fire , like Missing , was about Americans, not Latinos. None of its central charac-ters was Nicaraguan, just as none of Missing ’s was Chilean. Another Hollywood element in Under Fire was the implication that the revolution was dependent on a single heroic leader. In fact, the Sandinistas won with collective leadership, but that is harder to fi lm. Under Fire was more successful as a treatise on journalists under pressure, trying to come to terms with their own power and to use it for good rather than have it used by malefactors (like the CIA agent). Russell must make a moral choice between professional ethics and good politics (helping the revolutionaries). He chooses politics, but the fi lm refused to make his choice so obvious as to obscure its diffi culty or to stifl e argument about it.

Under Fire was a success in Europe, but fl opped in the United States. Some critics thought its subject was too much in the news at the moment. Others thought the movie failed because it was anti- American. “The fi lm may be the only American movie in recent decades to side with a foreign government against which the United States has aligned itself,” declared the New York Times . Roger Spottiswoode, the British director of Under Fire , insisted that the fi lm was not anti- American, however. “It is a fi lm against American policy in Central

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America. . . . In that sense it’s got political content,” but “it’s an exciting story and it has lots of different levels other than the political one.” 20 Supporters of American foreign policy nevertheless condemned Under Fire ’s bias, whereas critics on the left denounced its portrait of a “one- dimensional Third World where the natives pull liberal heartstrings—until they get reckless.” 21

If being about a contemporary issue and opposing U.S. policy were the fi rst two strikes against Under Fire , its treatment of journalists may have been the third. The press was highly critical of the fi lm for justifying the fakery of the photograph. Labeling Russell’s ruse “Rambo- think in reverse,” Enrique Fernandez condemned the movie for saying “it’s okay to lie for the left.” 22 Vincent Canby called Under Fire “absolutely absurd” for oversimplify-ing the success of a revolution and for adding to public mistrust of the press. 23 Pauline Kael, however, said other journalists unconsciously do the same sort of thing Russell did. 24

Kiss of the Spider Woman (1985), a joint U.S./Brazilian production, presented a Latin American perspective on revolutionary politics. Brazilian Hector Babenco directed this adaptation of Manuel Puig’s novel in English with an American cast. The story is set in a South American prison, where a homosexual, Luis Molina (William Hurt), befriends a revolutionary, Valentin Arregui (Raul Julia). Molina is an apolitical romantic who survives prison by reenacting movies, including a fascist melodrama that appalls his cellmate. When Molina is freed, he carries out a political act on the instructions of his revolutionary friend. His motive is romantic, rather than political, and he is used by both the police and the revolutionaries, but he achieves fulfi llment by his commitment. Meanwhile, Valentin, still in prison, has learned to dream in order to survive. The roles have been reversed. In a way, Spider Woman is cynical about politics, yet the love and pride of the self- sacrifi cing Molina make a superfi cially meaningless act heroic.

Spider Woman had nothing to say about U.S. involvement in Latin American politics, but other fi lms did. In Latino (1985), directed by Haskell Wexler ( Medium Cool ), Green Beret Eddie Guerrero (Robert Beltran) is sent to train Nicaraguan counterrevolutionaries, a job he comes to dislike. His Nicaraguan lover adds to his doubts about the U.S. role in Nicaragua, and the sweet but determined farmers of a Sandinista co- op provide a sharp contrast to the crude, antirevolutionary Contras. Eddie becomes so disillusioned that he allows himself to be taken captive on a raid. The army has sent Chicanos like Eddie to Central America because they can pass as natives if captured, but he violates orders, keeping the dog tag that will identify him as an American and reveal U.S. involvement in the confl ict. Although well meaning, Latino was too obvious. Even critics who were sympathetic with its politics panned it. “I guess I’m damning it,” David Edelstein wrote, “for not stirring people up the way a hack right- wing action fl ick does—for forgetting that, in American movies, it’s not enough to tell the truth.” 25

Salvador (1986) did what Edelstein seemed to want from Latino: communicating the chaos and horror of revolution and stirring things up. In fact, Salvador looked more like a right- wing movie than the left- wing movie it was. Oliver Stone ( Wall Street ) directed and coauthored this low- budget production with Richard Boyle, the gonzo journalist whose story it tells. Boyle (James Wood) seems to have been present at every highly publicized atrocity of the long war in El Salvador, including the assassination of Archbishop Oscar Romero and the murder of three nuns. Through it all, he drinks, takes drugs, mistreats women, abuses his responsibility, and disappoints those who trust him. He is such an offensive character that his conversion to the revolutionary cause lessens its credibility, but he also prevents the politics

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of Salvador from seeming pious. The fi lm’s reverential treatment of the rebels in their quiet camps strains belief, however, as does Boyle’s one speech explicitly denouncing U.S. policy. Boyle’s disgust when the rebels kill some prisoners is an attempt to provide balance, but Salvador is still less balanced than even Missing or Under Fire . It ends with Boyle and his Salvadoran lover being led off in handcuffs—by U.S. immigration offi cers. “The man who made this movie is no gentle persuader hoping to cast a wide net out in the mainstream,” wrote one offended critic. 26 Salvador is sometimes crude and simple- minded, but Stone’s no- holds- barred fi lmmaking leaves a powerful impression.

Romero (1989) dealt with some of the same subjects, but less forcefully and entertain-ingly. John Duigan’s fi lm is a biopic about Salvadoran archbishop Oscar Romero (Raul Julia), telling of his disillusionment with the Salvadoran government, his radicalization, and fi nally his assassination. Produced by Paulist Pictures, which is associated with a Catholic order of teachers, the fi lm was a little too reverent for its own good, but it did record a piece of history. So did The Old Gringo (1989), featuring Gregory Peck, Jane Fonda, and Jimmy Smits caught up in Pancho Villa’s Mexican revolution. Washington Post critic Hal Hinson dismissed it as “grandly scaled folly . . . with overblown revolutionary nonsense.” 27 Other critics agreed.

The failures of these movies might have discouraged the making of others on the subject, but at least they offered an alternative to the conservative, superpatriot fi lms of the Reagan era, although they were considerably less popular.

Return to Vietnam

Another set of fi lms provided a more popular and powerful counterpoint to Rambo and Top Gun , as fi lmmakers—most notably Oliver Stone—returned to the subject of Vietnam.

Stone’s Platoon (1986) was less overtly political than Salvador , his earlier fi lm. Platoon is a tough, gritty movie about American soldiers in Vietnam. Based on the director’s own experiences, the fi lm is fi lled with powerful images of the horror of that war. Compared to

The fi rst in Oliver Stone’s Vietnam War trilogy, Platoon (1986) depicts the experience of fi ghting in a platoon, including a civilian massacre.

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Apocalypse Now and The Deer Hunter , Platoon is unpretentious and down- to- earth. It deals with the ways the war affected a small group of men, rather than attempting to communicate a bigger message.

“You volunteered for this shit, man?” declares a black soldier on discovering that Chris Taylor (Charlie Sheen) is in Vietnam because he felt the fi ghting should not be left to “poor kids.” “You got to be rich in the fi rst place to think like that!” the soldier scoffs. In a series of terrifying patrols and battles, two sergeants struggle for “possession” of young Taylor’s soul. Barnes (Tom Berenger) is a scarred, gung- ho soldier driven to win at any cost and furious at the constraints imposed on the fi ghters by the politicians. “Our captain Ahab,” Taylor calls him. Elias (Willem Dafoe) is a mellow, dope- smoking progressive. When Taylor asks if he believes in what he is doing, Elias says he did in 1965, but “Now . . . no. . . . We’re gonna lose this war. . . . We been kickin’ other people’s asses for so long I fi gure it’s time we got ours kicked.”

Throughout his harrowing fi lm, Stone focuses relentlessly and respectfully on the men who actually fought the war, the grunts. “They’re poor, they’re the unwanted, yet they’re fi ghting for our society and our freedom,” Chris observes at the beginning, but by the end, he is saying, “we did not fi ght the enemy, we fought ourselves and the enemy was in us.” Like earlier movies about Vietnam, Platoon pays little attention to what we did to the Viet-namese and makes no effort to analyze the reasons for the war. Such restraint is surprising from the maker of Salvador , but by focusing on the real horrors of fi ghting the war rather than its politics, Stone broadened his audience and made his point more strongly. More than in most political fi lms, music underscored the message of Platoon , with Samuel Barber’s sad “Adagio for Strings” setting its mournful tone.

Dedicating his fi lm to “the men who fought and died in Vietnam,” Stone said, “I’d like [Vietnam vets] to see it and feel it and walk out and say never again.” 28 Many vets and other viewers seem to have done so. “We didn’t set out to make an anti- war fi lm,” producer Arnold Kopelson said, but “if, through Platoon , the public perceives Vietnam as a war America shouldn’t have got involved in, then it may raise their consciousness about what’s going on in Nicaragua.” 29

Praised by the critics, Platoon was a big box offi ce hit and won four Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Best Direction. The success of the movie came as a surprise to many, who found its politics dramatically out of sync with the patriotic conservatism of the Reagan era. Among the most surprised were the Hollywood studios that had refused to fi nance Platoon, a mistake they might have avoided if they had noted the success of The Killing Fields (1984), an earlier, equally powerful fi lm about the confl ict in Southeast Asia that was produced by a British company.

Three more Vietnam fi lms by great directors followed, though none was entirely successful as a fi lm or at the box offi ce. Barry Levinson directed Good Morning, Vietnam (1987), Stanley Kubrick directed Full Metal Jacket (1987), another British production, and Brian De Palma directed Casualties of War (1989). All told stories of Vietnam from the perspective of troops similar to those in Platoon , and all emphasized the moral ambiguities and horrors of that war.

A Decade of Diverse Messages

In retrospect and even at the time, movies like Rambo and Top Gun seemed to dominate the 1980s and the era of Reagan. Certainly they were popular with audiences, if not popular press critics. But other fi lms with very different messages also were offered. Some, like

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Missing and Platoon , were very successful and stand the test of time better than the superpa-triotic fi lms. Most remarkably, these fi lms succeeded partly because they seemed to beat the Stallone– Norris– Eastwood movies at their own game, with tough and realistic action. They also suggested that the American public was willing to contemplate the harsh realities of international involvement rather than simply to fantasize about some sort of revenge victory.

Reaganite fi lms were box offi ce hits, but movies from Reds to Silkwood , Salvador , and Daniel examined politics from another perspective. Many addressed tough issues, presented complex characters, and refused to offer facile solutions. Political commitment, these mov-ies asserted, was diffi cult but worthwhile. Some fi lms, of course, continued to manifest naive faith in the system, the people, or the press, but these movies were fewer in number than in previous eras. Several advocated activism even as the country grew apathetic and self- centered. Even the increasingly youthful audience and rising production costs—averaging $16 million in 1986 with half again as much for promotion—did not discourage the mak-ing of serious fi lms about politics. With cable television, videocassettes, and an increasing number of movie theaters providing new outlets, revenues, and investors for fi lmmakers, independent production increased, and the 1980s ranks with the 1930s as one of the most fertile eras for political fi lms.

Notes

1 . Stills , October 13, 1984, p. 15. 2 . Ibid. 3 . The Guardian , July 20, 1985. 4 . Time Out , April 23–29, 1986. 5 . California , July 1986. 6 . Quoted in People , December 16, 1985. 7 . “The Chicanery of Silkwood,” New York Times , December 25, 1983; Village Voice , February 21,

1984. 8 . New York Times , August 20, 1984. 9 . Chicago Sun- Times , December 11, 1987. 10 . New York Times , August 20, 1984. 11 . Film Quarterly , 35 (Spring 1982): 43–47. 12 . Morris Dickstein, “Time Bandits,” American Film , October 1982, p. 42. 13 . New York Times , December 4, 1981. 14 . Village Voice , December 14, 1981. 15 . Warren Beatty accepting the Academy Award for Best Director, March 31, 1981. 16 . Lecture, London Film Festival, December 3, 1983. 17 . Village Voice , September 6, 1983. 18 . The Guardian , July 19, 1984. 19 . American Film , March 1982, p. 79. 20 . New York Times , cited in Sunday Times London Magazine , January 22, 1984. 21 . John Powers, “Saints and Savages,” American Film , January–February 1984, p. 38. 22 . Village Voice , December 2, 1986. 23 . New York Times , December 2, 1984. 24 . The New Yorker , October 31, 1983. 25 . Village Voice , March 11, 1986. 26 . California , June 1986. 27 . Washington Post , October 6, 1989. 28 . Nightline , ABC- TV, December 19, 1986. 29 . Guardian , February 14, 1987.

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The 1990s FX Politics

Air Force One (1997)

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As the 1990s began, Republican George H.W. Bush had succeeded Ronald Reagan in the White House. His administration reached its apogee in the successful Gulf War of 1991, for which Bush masterfully built an international coalition, although he ended the war without bringing down Saddam Hussein. His popularity soared but soon collapsed as a recession hit the economy and Bush seemed unable to cope. Quoting Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry, Bush had declared “Read my lips, no new taxes” when he fi rst ran for president, then raised taxes in the face of recession. His movie quote came back to haunt him in the 1992 election, when he was decisively beaten by Bill Clinton. Besides being the fi rst baby boomer to become president, Clinton was the darling of Hollywood, and the Clinton White House virtually became Hollywood East for a succession of fi lmmakers and movie stars. He would also become the implicit subject of several fi lms of the 1990s.

The fi nal decade of the millennium also brought a paradox with respect to fi lm and poli-tics. After the vapidity of many of the fi lms of the 1980s and growing corporatism in the fi lm industry, healthy skepticism about the prospects was probably in order. Would Hollywood studios deign to create challenging, more explicitly political fi lms, or would the growing chains of ever- larger multiplexes be consigned to sequels of “high- concept” remakes of television sitcoms? Or could the two perhaps coexist?

Writing in The Nation at the decade’s end, Jon Clark noted, “Everyone in Hollywood agrees on one thing: The studios are reluctant to make political or even serious pictures. For moviemakers, being called ‘political’ is often the kiss of death.” 1 Although reasonably compelling and politically charged movies such as Wag the Dog (1997), Bulworth (1998), and Primary Colors (1998) did manage to emerge, they were fi nancial fl ops despite boasting big stars, big directors, and big studio marketing machinery.

Clark had a point; of the top twenty fi lms of the decade, only the maudlin Forrest Gump (1994) and the neowestern Dances with Wolves (1990) might charitably be categorized as overtly political fi lms. Far more popular were romantic blockbusters like Titanic (1997) and special- effects- laden fantasy epics like Jurassic Park (1993) and the Star Wars sequel Phantom Menace (1999). Indeed, special effects were perhaps the signature feature of the decade’s fi lms, and critics frequently bemoaned the preeminence of “FX” razzle- dazzle over storytelling substance. Partly as a result of big studios taking over their turf with aggressive buying sprees and in- house specialty divisions, independent movies became more notice-able but also more conventional (see Chapter 3 ). Even if movies like The Player (1992), directed by Robert Altman, and The Usual Suspects (1995) did not evoke overtly political themes and messages, they did veer signifi cantly from the mind- numbing status quo of the standard Hollywood product of the decade.

Key Political Films of the 1990s

The decade did produce a signifi cant canon of explicitly political fi lms that, if lacking in measurable impact upon the political system, certainly added to its lexicon. Thematically, the most interesting overtly political fi lms—those with obvious political content and what seemed to be intentional messages—refl ected a deep cynicism about the political system and its institutions. To the extent they were partisan vehicles, the tenor of the decade was defi nitely askew toward the liberal side of the aisle, as political movies with coherently con-servative themes were few, if any. Such fi lms shared screen space with vapid, yet sometimes more entertaining (and generally more fi nancially successful) movies that used political

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institutions for their human interest value, much as media coverage of political events (i.e., the Clinton impeachment saga) seemed to.

The leading contender for the decade’s touchstone political fi lm must be Wag the Dog (1997), a movie whose tagline was “truth, justice, and special effects.” Featuring two of the generation’s biggest stars in Dustin Hoffman and Robert De Niro, director Barry Levinson’s creation was a brilliant mixture of Hollywood and Washington, DC. Shot in just twenty- nine days with a small budget, the scattershot story begins with a president who is accused of molesting a Girl Scout (“Firefl y Girl”) in the Oval Offi ce just eleven days before the next election. In order to divert the public’s attention from the scandal, the president’s spin doctor (De Niro) enlists a Hollywood producer (Hoffman) to create a fake war. The resulting pseudowar with Albania (!) is waged via press release, music video, and war memorabilia in a movie that was always both absurd and frighteningly plausible. In its mixture of political insight and comedy, the fi lm echoed some of the best political satires, from Dr. Strangelove (1964) to The Mouse That Roared (1959).

When Wag the Dog was released, it was viewed as uncannily prescient because of the proximity of the Lewinsky scandal. President Clinton, in fact, was accused of “wagging the dog”—diverting the media and public attention with a foreign policy initiative—when he ordered missile attacks on a chemical weapons plant in Sudan and a terrorist training camp in Afghanistan. (Of course, such charges were vigorously denied by the Clinton administration.) In retrospect, however, the fi lm was perhaps even more precisely predictive of the second Iraqi war. In the movie, war with Albania is said to be necessary because of “links to extremist Muslim groups” and weapons of mass destruction (a “suitcase bomb”) that did not exist. The ostensible motive of the terrorists: “They want to destroy our way of life!” (In fact, Wag the Dog was based on a book whose premise was that the fi rst Iraqi war was staged by President George H.W. Bush and Saddam Hussein.)

Wag the Dog (1997) shows Hollywood producer Stanley Motss (Dustin Hoffman) using blue-screen technology to create a fake war, complete with innocent victim (Kirsten Dunst), in order to divert public attention from a presidential scandal.

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As eerily plausible and prescient as Wag the Dog seemed to be—particularly when in the midst of personal troubles, Clinton launched attacks in Sudan against Osama bin Laden—its deeper meaning was perhaps even more salient. Mid- fi lm, the Hollywood professionals’ actions become more important than those of the politicos. Perhaps no other movie had effectively investigated the similarities between the two worlds and the indispensability of images and sound bites in American politics.

Another election satire, Bulworth (1998), fi nds Warren Beatty playing the title charac-ter, a U.S. senator who is deeply depressed. He takes out a large insurance policy on himself and arranges his own assassination. Going for days without food or sleep and increasingly despondent, Bulworth arrives drunk to give a scheduled speech to an African- American group in Los Angeles. Instead of delivering his prepared speech, Bulworth starts speaking what he honestly believes, most of it shocking his audience (not to mention his campaign manager). The senator gains attention for telling it like it is, even as he begins immers-ing himself in hip- hop culture and falling in love with a black woman. He becomes a political phenomenon and regains his will to live, yet the assassination plot is still in motion.

Bulworth , while certainly satirical and cynical, is a different type of fi lm than Wag the Dog . Much of the fi lm’s humor lies in the juxtaposition of the formerly stodgy Bulworth and the hip- hop culture—he even starts rapping his political speeches. But the political premise is much more conventional: Bulworth comes from a long line of fi lms that implied that if only liberal or populist politicians would speak the truth, they would somehow be more popular. Still, it is novel to see a movie character explaining why Americans do not have national health insurance (because of payoffs by insurance companies) and how the Medicare program is more effi cient than private health insurance companies. Bulworth is essentially a novel, albeit entertaining, vehicle for liberal ideology.

Although neither movie was a resounding hit, of the two, Wag the Dog was much more successful fi nancially (it ran fi ve weeks, with a $43 million domestic gross) than Bulworth (three weeks, $26 million). By contrast, the twentieth most popular fi lm of the decade, Toy Story (1995), grossed $192 million. Both Wag the Dog and Bulworth gained notoriety

In Bulworth (1998), Warren Beatty plays disillusioned Senator Bulworth, who begins to channel hip- hop language and rhythms to speak unvarnished truth to his constituents and fund- raisers, much to the dismay of his staff.

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among critics and the media, Wag the Dog for its presumed connection to President Clinton and Bulworth primarily for controversy over its racial imagery. Perhaps movies that suggest that the voters (and therefore, moviegoers) are idiots for believing the bald- faced lies of their elected representatives are poor commercial propositions.

Bob Roberts (1992) also presented a fi ctional senatorial candidate and election. Tim Rob-bins (who also wrote and directed) starred in the title role as a candidate from Pennsylvania. Candidate Roberts is a slick and ingratiating pol, who touts ill- defi ned support for symbolic issues such as national pride and family values. Espousing “rebel conservativism,” he plays guitar and sings counterprotest songs like “Times Are Changin’ Back” and “This Land Was Made for Me.” Behind the scenes, though, we are allowed to see that Roberts is really a cyni-cal, mudslinging manipulator. His campaign exploits many of the techniques of (successful) modern campaigns. Presented as a pseudodocumentary, Bob Roberts garnered nearly unani-mous critical praise, but fl opped miserably at the box offi ce, grossing less than $5 million, as did Robbins’s next project, Cradle Will Rock (1999), an adamantly liberal look at the relationship between art and politics during the Great Depression.

If Wag the Dog was the boldest overtly political movie of the decade, the brashest had to be Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers (1994). In what someday might be regarded as Stone’s masterwork, the relationship between the news media and politics was explored in a way as twisted yet as spot- on as Wag the Dog ’s look at Hollywood. The fi lm depicts the story of two young lovers, Mickey (Woody Harrelson) and Mallory (Juliette Lewis), who go on an ultraviolent killing spree. A television reporter (Robert Downey Jr.) from a show called American Maniacs follows them and the pair becomes a cause célèbre.

Released about the time of the societal fascination with the O.J. Simpson trial, Killers explores the discomforting symbiosis between the media and violence in American culture. The movie is much more about how the media (and everyday Americans) reacted to the idea of Mickey and Mallory than it is about their bloodthirstiness. In that respect, it shares the harrowing near- plausibility of Wag the Dog . With popular television shows like Cops and America’s Most Wanted on the air, not to mention the Simpson trial spectacle, how unlikely is a pair of celebrated mass murderers?

Unlike Wag the Dog , though, Killers was directed in an utterly surreal way. Included were uses of animated sequences, black- and- white photography, a multitude of color lenses, and even a mock sitcom sequence that “explained” Mickey and Mallory. Stone threw a passel of cinematographic tricks at this movie to highlight its garish message of the extent to which violence is idolized in American mass culture. Said fi lm critic Roger Ebert, “Once we were shocked that the Romans threw Christians to the lions. Now we fi gure out a way to recycle the format into a TV show. That’s what Natural Born Killers is all about.” 2 Some critics found the movie gratuitous in its shocking approach, and audiences tended to shy away: the fi lm barely managed to break even.

After Stone, John Sayles is perhaps America’s most consistently political director, with strong messages about politics in almost all his fi lms. In the 1990s, Sayles delivered City of Hope (1991), Lone Star (1996), Men with Guns (1997), and Limbo (1999). All his fi lms deal at least tangentially with class and gender politics; many address issues of race as well. Other themes include political protest and apathy, the labor movement, the politics of prop-erty development, international exploitation, and local politics. Sayles writes, directs, and edits all his fi lms, none of which cost much to make and none of which, unfortunately, has ever reached a large audience. The fi lms, however, do well as independent cinema playing

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in art houses, and, partly because of their low budgets, they make money—at least enough for Sayles to go on to his next fi lm.

His fi lms of the 1990s tended to emphasize his personal vision of politics; Sunshine State (2002), for example, focused on the effects of Florida real estate development on the lives of several interconnected characters. Said Sayles, “Our movies are political in that they deal with how people affect each other, and how governments affect people and how peo-ple affect governments, but they are not ideological. I would say they just recognize that there are politics involved in a lot of things.” 3 However, in 2004 Sayles came back to more overtly political fare with Silver State , his fi fteenth feature fi lm. Featuring Chris Cooper as a gubernatorial candidate (with the politically loaded name of Richard Pilager) who looks and sounds an awful lot like George W. Bush, Silver State is a tongue- in- cheek, satirical look at contemporary elections.

Candidate Pilager stands for “honesty, integrity, and articulacy” but in reality fronts for moneyed interests. However, Silver State was primarily hung around a much less captivating character, a down- at- his- heels journalist named Danny O’Brien (Danny Huston), who stum-bles onto a complicated conspiracy that fails to surprise or enlighten the audience. Richard Dreyfuss contributed a convincing portrayal of Pilager’s slick campaign manager, but on the whole Silver State feels too hollow to convince us of any underlying truths.

The Cold War Reheated

The 1990s were a decade that witnessed rapid political change. Foremost, the Soviet Union and its East European empire crumbled. Many observers credited this surprising develop-ment to the fi rm defense policies of Ronald Reagan, although others attributed it to the long history of American commitment to the Cold War. Still others believe that the Soviet Union toppled from the sheer weight of its own corruption. Oddly, perhaps, the dissolution of the “evil empire” was not popular subject matter for the decade’s fi lm. As one critic expressed it, “the end of the cold war . . . created a grievous villain vacuum in Armageddon- mongering fi ction.” 4

In fact, even as the Soviet Union fell apart, several box offi ce successes reverted to the Cold War for the familiar enemy, including the box offi ce smash The Hunt for Red October (1990), Crimson Tide (1995), and the far less commercially successful Russia House (1990). Compared to the images of cold, effi cient, malignant power delivered by the Reaganesque fi lms of the previous decade, the Soviet enemy portrayed in these fi lms is technologically inferior, self- doubting, and in fact seeking to aid American efforts to counter its military and political might. Collectively, the fi lms seem to devalue the dismantling of the Soviet empire, as the villains they portray seem less than a worthy adversary of a superpower.

Red October , based on a novel by the generally conservative Tom Clancy, features Alec Baldwin as Clancy’s CIA action hero, Jack Ryan (a role that Harrison Ford would less suc-cessfully reprise in Patriot Games , 1992, and Clear and Present Danger , 1994). Ryan is brought aboard an American submarine when U.S. intelligence learns that a Soviet sub commander, Marko Ramius (Sean Connery), has steered his sub (called Red October ) off course toward American shores. The fi lm is primarily a highly effective suspense movie, but while certainly evincing the competence and effectiveness of American military and intel-ligence prowess, it also manages to cast the Soviet system as somewhat bumbling even as

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the Soviet commander—who seeks to defect to the United States—is provided a noble sheen by Connery.

Another submarine tale, Crimson Tide , suffers from the lack of a coherent, compelling villain. Instead of the evil empire, submarine offi cers portrayed by Gene Hackman and Denzel Washington must contend with a breakaway group of Russian forces that have seized missile silos from the former USSR. Much of the plot revolves around the tensions between Hackman’s and Washington’s characters, but the fi lm also portrays the former übervillain of Soviet military might as less imposing than earlier fi lms might have. Similarly, Russia House (based on a novel by more liberal- leaning—and British—author John Le Carré), although it operates on a much more human and dramatic level than the submarine stories, provides us with a Soviet system that is militarily defi cient and crying for assistance in its own defeat. Sean Connery plays a British author who is given secret data about the Soviet missile system: Russian rockets “suck instead of blow . . . and can’t hit Nevada on a clear day,” as a CIA agent comments. A critical success on the strength of the dramatic perfor-mances by Connery and Michelle Pfeiffer (the Soviet “leak”), the fi lm was not a big success at the box offi ce, perhaps because it failed to portray the kind of villainy to which American audiences could relate. From where would the next generation of supervillains come?

A decade before the events of September 11, 2001, with the credibility of the Soviet Union as an ominous threat in rapid decline, Hollywood began to look toward terrorism and terrorists as stand- ins for the role of villainous international threats to American security. Although Russians—specifi cally, nuclear weapons from the former Soviet Union—as well as generic Latin Americans ( Toy Soldiers , 1991), Kazakhstanis ( Air Force One , 1997), and even Irishmen ( Patriot Games , 1992) were occasionally demonized as terrorist threats, the evildoer of choice tended to be Arabic. In popular movies like Navy Seals (1990), True Lies (1994), and Executive Decision (1996), “Middle Eastern,” “Islamic,” or “Arab” terrorists posed the threats that American action heroes had to defuse. In Under Siege (1992), white terrorists threaten to sell nuclear arms to Arab nations, while a frenzied Arab mob creates the backdrop for Rules of Engagement (2000).

In all likelihood, the makers of these fi lms did not intend to single out Arabs as innately evil, and the generic Middle Eastern villains were merely a convenient choice to replace the hastily exited Soviet heavies. However, research conducted by media critic Jack Sheehan indicates that, far from being a recent development, the vilifi cation of Arabs is a long- standing Hollywood tradition. Reviewing more than 900 movies produced since 1900, Sheehan found that nearly all presented a negative stereotype of Arabs (typically as bru-tal, heartless, uncivilized “others” bent on terrorizing civilized Westerners), whereas only twelve movies transmitted what could be construed to be a positive image. 5 (One of the few exceptions was Three Kings (1999), which we discuss later in this chapter.)

The crude stereotyping might be less potentially injurious if fi lm portrayals of Arabs as ordinary people were more commonplace. “Stereotyping and demonizing of the Arab or Muslim by American fi lm has been so complete and so successful that fi lm critics, most Americans and social commentators have barely noticed,” notes one Arab studies scholar. 6 Furthermore, the heritage of Arab- bashing creates diffi culties when the use of Arab antago-nists is truly appropriate. The Siege (1998) envisioned a realistic terrorist scenario in which an extremist Islamic group threatens to bomb New York City—eerily prescient, of course, of the September 11 attacks. What differentiated The Siege from the vast majority of fi lms

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using Arabs as villainous elements was that it sought to provide insight into the attitudes, backgrounds, and history of Islamic extremists. It also presented other Arabs in a positive light, including an Arab- American agent who participates in the investigation of the threat.

Actually, The Siege was not so much a movie about terrorism as a meditation on the effects on civil liberties that terrorism poses. According to director Ed Zwick, The Siege is “very much about what civil liberties are we prepared to sacrifi ce for the sake of prosecuting a war [against] an unseen enemy? Are we willing to abnegate certain privileges and rights? privacy? speech? whatever? assembly? for the sake of actually dealing with something that’s very pernicious and has been the plague of every other country but America for the last thirty years?” 7

However, the fi lm was largely lost on American audiences, who perhaps confused it with yet another Arab terrorist action fl ick. Ironically, it also suffered from criticism that it was anti- Arab, an accusation that might have been less tenable had it not been released amid so many movies that actually do seek to mindlessly vilify Arabs.

The War That Keeps On Giving . . .

Although the Cold War seemingly vanished in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet system, fi lmmakers continued to mine the Vietnam War. Oliver Stone, already noted for Platoon (1986), opened the decade with Born on the Fourth of July (December 1989, but viewed primarily in 1990). Whereas Platoon sought to explore the nature of the war itself, Fourth of July examined the war’s domestic impacts. Up- and- coming megastar Tom Cruise por-trayed Ron Kovic, a paraplegic Vietnam veteran who wrote a memoir about his experiences. The use of Cruise, who to some represented an American ideal, was effective in selling the fi lm’s message of the horror of war. Kovic is transformed from an all- American boy (hence the fi lm’s title), to a pathetically crippled soldier (his paraplegic’s therapy is depicted in detail), to an angry opponent of the war. Some critics, however, began to sense that the war’s cinematic novelty had been depleted: “Because there have now been so many fi lms about Vietnam, because we’ve seen so many innocent villagers gunned down, so many accidental deaths, so much tragedy and pain, unless a radically different perspective is presented . . . a numbing sense of familiarity sets in,” wrote Hal Hinson of the Washington Post . 8 Neverthe-less, perhaps due to Cruise’s participation and performance, the fi lm was a smash fi nancial success.

Arguably the biggest Vietnam War movie of the decade, however, did not actually take the war as its theme. Directed by Robert Zemeckis, a relatively obscure protégé of Steven Spielberg, Forrest Gump (1994) followed the fi ctional life of a mentally handicapped man. The fi lm literally inserts Gump’s life into a panoply of late twentieth- century American his-tory, using digital effects to enable him, among other things, to teach the “real” Elvis Presley how to dance and to meet the “real” Lyndon Johnson at the White House on screen. How-ever, it is the Vietnam War that serves as the pivotal event in the fi lm’s narrative, as most of the fi lm seems to constitute a string of disjointed vignettes.

Gump, played by American icon- in- the- making Tom Hanks, fi ghts heroically in the Vietnam War. Befriending a black soldier who will die in combat, he valiantly saves another soldier by carrying him through miles of jungle brush. He is awarded a Medal of Honor by President Johnson, yet also manages to energize a massive antiwar protest. Essentially, Gump, whose everyman status is elevated by Hanks’s own, comes to signify everything that

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is good about America, even under the worst of circumstances. Viewers are allowed to feel good about every recent aspect of American history, including race relations, the war, and war protests . . . even George Wallace and paraplegics become easier to take. This quality of the movie, along with the eerily impressive special effects, helps explain Gump ’s stunning success at the box offi ce (it grossed $679 million), as well as a few critical accusations of pandering to “maudlin sentiment.” 9 The fi lm is not pro- war so much as it is uncritically and relentlessly pro- American.

After ignoring the subject of World War II for years, Hollywood turned once again to that war during the 1990s. The best of the lot, Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan (1998), was one of the most- seen fi lms of the decade. Mixing detailed realism in battle scenes with time- tested combat fi lm stereotypes, and opening and closing on images of the American fl ag, Spielberg’s fi lm is a patriotic ode to the fi ghters of the “last good war.” The fi lm’s enormous popularity helped to inspire a new wave of recognition for veterans of the war. Tom Hanks starred as the regular guy—a Midwestern schoolteacher—who leads a platoon of young sol-diers in search of Private Ryan. Although the soldiers are occasionally frightened, they never question their participation in the war, as soldiers in a typical Vietnam War movie would.

Spielberg also tapped into the horrors of World War II with Schindler’s List (1993), which documented the heroic actions of an otherwise ordinary Polish businessman in rescuing Jews from extermination at the hands of the Nazis. Without disparaging Schindler’s List , which received high critical praise and an Academy Award for Best Picture, it bears noting that American audiences seem to take to movies about foreign political heroes more readily than those about heroes of their own country. They have demonstrated their interest in fi lms that document the shaking- up of the political systems of other countries, such as Gandhi , Evita , Michael Collins , In the Name of the Father , and Cry Freedom , yet an American movie about slavery has yet to achieve much popularity.

The most original if not also the very best war movie of the decade, Three Kings (1999) was one of the few major motion pictures to address the fi rst Gulf War. Near the war’s end, three American soldiers (bankable star George Clooney, Mark Wahlberg, and Ice Cube) learn that a cache of confi scated gold bullion is hidden in an obscure Iraqi encampment. What might have been a simple reworking of a similarly plotted World War II movie, Kelly’s Heroes (1970), becomes much more interesting when the trio discovers that Iraqis are being slaughtered as the American military retreats. The fi lm was thus, on one level, an explicit critique of the Bush administration’s prosecution of the war.

Of greater interest, however, was how director David O. Russell drew the central char-acters of this fi rst post- Vietnam American war. Clooney, Wahlberg, and Ice Cube portray soldiers, not conscripts, who are at once “bored, opportunistic, confused about a war they never got a chance to fi ght properly, and dangerously impulsive.” 10 Their enemies, moreover, are not inscrutable demons (as the Vietnamese were frequently portrayed, even in antiwar fi lms), but instead depicted as human beings with their own problems and agendas.

Three Kings also set itself apart with its energetic style. The ante of active camerawork offered by Vietnam War movies like Platoon was raised considerably by Russell’s visu-ally striking, rapidly cutting eye that helped the audience buy the sense of random chaos in which these characters must make life- and- death decisions. Lens fi lters kept the Middle Eastern desert looking menacing, yet banal. Surprisingly, audiences responded well to a movie that seemed to undercut an American military victory, and Three Kings grossed more than $60 million domestically (as well as another $40 million internationally).

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Presidential Characters

As no decade of fi lm before it, the 1990s were focused on the United States. Fictional presidents were featured or fi gured prominently in at least a dozen popular movies, while bio-graphical (and quasi- biographical) fi lms of Richard Nixon, Bill Clinton, and John Kennedy were also released. What many of these fi lms shared was emphasis on the personal lives of presidents (real or imagined). To a certain extent, this tendency mirrored reality, as the Clin-ton presidency was characterized by unprecedented interest in chief executive “affairs.” But many of these fi lms preceded the Lewinsky and related scandals, as did both Dave (1993) and The American President (1995).

Americans generally tend to be more aware of and interested in presidential politics than those at any other level, perhaps due to the myth of the all- powerful president. Popular movies about fi ctional presidents can speak volumes about American perceptions of them-selves and their country. Both Dave and The American President in broad strokes resemble Capra- like fantasies about the presidency. At the surface, both are romantic comedies or light dramas that explore the idea of a president’s social life. In Dave , Kevin Kline plays a small- town businessman whose uncanny resemblance to the incumbent president results in his summons to Washington to cover for the president, who has suffered a heart attack while engaging in an extramarital affair. À la Capra, Dave turns out to be a ceaselessly honest, everyday guy who, when thrust into a corrupt system, becomes a force for good—that is, when he’s not getting emotionally involved with the president’s wife, who has become estranged from her husband due to his lack of character in all matters.

On a political level, Dave betrays a hopelessly simplistic and perhaps even purposely naive view of the presidency that might make Capra blush. When a budget shortfall threatens homeless shelters, Dave summons his entire cabinet, snaps his fi ngers, and, voilà, increases social spending and balances the budget (with a little help from his small- town buddy, an accountant). In case the left- of- center bent is not obvious (the screenwriter was a Democratic delegate at the 1980 national convention), Dave successfully rebuffs the evil machinations of the real president’s right- wing aide. To the extent—and here is the big question—that the audience took Dave seriously, the movie reinforced the idea of the all- powerful president as well as the Capra ideal of the effi cacy of one man versus the corrupt system. The painless politics it espoused was, as the Washington Post noted, “an attempt to reheat the American pie and hand around the slices, a form of gentle jingoism equivalent to playing the national anthem at ball games.” 11

The American President , although it is not without a host of lighthearted moments, has a somewhat more serious tone. Michael Douglas portrays Andrew Shepherd, a liberal presi-dent who is up for reelection. He also happens to be a widower who meets an attractive, capable environmental lobbyist named Sydney Wade (Annette Bening). Sparks fl y. The plot thickens when Shepherd’s right- wing opponent uses the affair (which has become public knowledge) as an election issue. As we would expect any fi ctional president to do, Shepherd successfully rebuffs the attack, protects gun control and the environment, and manages to keep the girl and live happily ever after.

Like Dave, this fi ctional president is obviously liberal, but this time with big- city style and attitude. (Neither is identifi ed as a Democrat, however, apparently so as not to alienate Republican audiences.) When accused of being an American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) member, Shepherd barks to his opponent, “Yes, I am a card- carrying member of the ACLU.

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But the more important question is: Why aren’t you, Bob?” in a way that might provide com-fort to liberal audiences. The system is again portrayed as corrupt, but this president knows how to make the deals that preserve his integrity and his political goals. In fact, arriving as it did when the Clinton administration was embattled and feeble, the fi lm’s message seemed to be aimed at Clinton. As president, Michael Douglas does not care what the polls say—he does the right (liberal) thing! Go left, young man!!

The American President comes across as a little more sophisticated about political realities than Dave —President Shepherd has to make deals—but equally naive about the presidency. Both place Capraesque faith in the effi cacy of personal character to trump political reality. But the broad comic and romantic appeal of both fi lms is probably more responsible for their sizable fi nancial success. Neither Dave nor The American President was of itself likely to have any measurable impact on moviegoers; conjointly with many other movies that also embodied a simplistic view of the presidency, however, they may have helped mold our expectations of the offi ce.

Another fi ctional presidency or, rather, pair of presidencies was the subject of the gentle screwball comedy My Fellow Americans (1994). Jack Lemmon and James Garner play two former U.S. presidents: Russell P. Kramer (Lemmon) is a stuffy, conservative Republican and Matt Douglas (Garner) is an amorous, liberal Democrat. (There is also a vice president who resembles Dan Quayle.) When the incumbent president (Dan Ackroyd) is hit with a bribery scandal, he tries to frame Kramer and Douglas. The two wind up on the lam and (you would never guess it) eventually learn to appreciate each other’s company and values. Although essentially a harmless romp, My Fellow Americans , like many fi lms that address political icons, deftly reconciles the differences between ideologies with personal warmth and humor.

The myth of the all- powerful president was revisited at absurd new extremes in two other fi ctional presidencies in Independence Day (1996) and Air Force One (1997). In Inde-pendence Day , an alien force invades planet Earth. Likable actor Bill Pullman portrays the president, who, along with a ramshackle group of other survivors of the alien attack, person-ally joins the battle by fl ying a fi ghter jet. Independence Day , suffi ce it to say, is not overly concerned with any sort of realism. It is a zesty, self- consciously silly pastiche of B- movie clichés dating from War of the Worlds (1953) up to approximately Star Wars (1977). Beyond the fl ying heroics of the president, the movie also manages to mix in a little jingoism: with the entire world under attack, it is the Americans who have the brains and the moxie to defeat the evil aliens. These aliens are so evil that they forgo the usual posturing as friendly explorers and start nuking American cities from the get- go. (It may have been comforting to some viewers to see the rest of the world actually applauding an American military action.) However, although it reinforces implausible expectations about the presidency, Indepen-dence Day is such a cartoon that only the most naive viewer would confuse its lazy plotting for a political message.

Mars Attacks (1996), released at roughly the same time, was essentially the same movie taken to its logical cartoonish conclusion and was therefore something of an antidote for those taken aback by the gleeful simplemindedness of Independence Day . Directed by visual maestro Tim Burton ( Edward Scissorhands , Beetlejuice ), it was said to be based on a series of bubblegum cards that were issued in the 1950s. The aliens microwave Congress and just about everything else in sight, with little point other than sheer cinematic fun . . . which, unfortunately, the movie oddly lacks.

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Air Force One featured yet another president with vast military experience and expertise. Harrison Ford was cast as President James Marshall, a Vietnam combat hero whose plane is hijacked by a Kazakhstani terrorist (Gary Oldham, an old hand at playing crazies of all races). Needless to say, the president’s combat savvy pays off and Marshall dispatches the villain in due course. Apart from the reprise of the president- as- action- hero concept fi rst seen in Independence Day , this fi lm includes Glenn Close as the vice president who must grapple with the terrorist’s demands. To its credit, the fi lm lets Close act with dignity and the audience- preferred level of toughness, perhaps helping to sell the idea of a female candidate to upcoming electorates. The movie itself is predictable, forgettable fun that does not really trample on any provocative political airspace. Yet the decade’s message of the all- powerful president was once again affi rmed in one of the most popular fi lms of the decade.

Less fi ctive, yet not necessarily true- to- life fi lms about the presidency addressed the life of Richard Nixon and the death of John F. Kennedy. Oliver Stone’s JFK (1991) was the premier overtly political fi lm event of the decade, grossing over $70 million domestically. The title notwithstanding, the fi lm is actually about a conspiracy to assassinate Kennedy and its cover- up; the president himself is presented as an icon of liberalism. ( JFK implies that Kennedy had plans to withdraw American troops from Vietnam). Directed with Stone’s trademark, extremely active camera (and liberal use of color fi lters), the movie is an intense experience fraught with compelling performances by an outstanding cast (Kevin Costner, Sissy Spacek, Joe Pesci, Donald Sutherland, Gary Oldman).

But JFK raised a fascinating and disturbing paradox as a political fi lm. In portraying the conspiracy to murder a president, Stone took extreme liberties with the factual evidence of such a conspiracy. In the words of fi lm critic Roger Ebert, the narrator of the fi lm (upon whose book the fi lm is loosely based), former New Orleans district attorney Jim Garri-son, “was a loose cannon who attracted crackpot conspiracy theories the way a dog draws fl eas.” 12 Yet Garrison’s theories, as well as others, were depicted as factual amid a backdrop of legitimately disturbing aspects of the Kennedy assassination. Was JFK therefore fi ction? Docudrama? Propaganda?

Whatever else it was, JFK was indubitably controversial. Stone was and is frequently vili-fi ed for distorting the truth, if not lying outright about the subject matter of JFK . One problem is that any fi lm based on historical subject matter contains historical inaccuracy, particularly those like JFK that address inherently mysterious or ambiguous subjects. According to fi lm historian Roger Rosenstone, “Film will always include images that are at once invented and true. True in that they symbolize, condense or summarize larger amounts of data, true in that they impart an overall meaning of the past that can be verifi ed, documented or reasonably argued.” From this standpoint, a fi lm like JFK can be interpreted as a hypothesis about his-torical events, what Rosenstone calls “historical intervention in that it’s provoking you to at least consider what might have happened, not to give you a defi nitive history.” 13

Such interpretations are perhaps suffi cient for fi lm critics and scholars, but what about the audience? Does a fi lm like JFK , for example, lead to unwarranted mistrust of government and/or the judicial system? Perhaps not . . . most viewers attending a movie like JFK are already armed with perceptual screens, and many may have read the reviews of the movie, which in the case of JFK tended to emphasize its lack of historical accuracy. Those enam-ored of conspiracy theories, of course, were already converted to the fi lm’s point of view. But what Stone’s fi lm did do, unequivocally, was to focus public interest and debate on a

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politically charged subject. It even spurred the release of previously sealed fi les by means of a congressional resolution signed by President George H.W. Bush. This was no mean feat in a mass cultural environment replete with other distractions. Film scholar William Romanowski states that the controversy about JFK “demonstrated how effective a motion picture can be as a transmitter of knowledge, history, and culture.” 14

Stone continued in a similar, although somewhat less controversial vein with his biopic of Richard M. Nixon, Nixon (1995). Although an outspoken liberal like Stone might have been expected to deliver a brutal caricature of the scandal- ridden Republican president, Nixon is actually a fairly evenhanded and conventional Hollywood- style biography. Unfortunately, some of the same aggressive fi lmmaking techniques that made the shocking substance of JFK all the more compelling tended not to coalesce as effectively with the more staid nar-rative of Nixon’s life. Nixon, after all, had an undistinguished upbringing, and winning and losing elections does not make for compelling cinema; Anthony Hopkins, familiar to many fi lmgoers in his role as psycho killer Hannibal Lecter, gave a heroic effort in the title role, but did not really look or sound like the man.

Stone provoked by creating some fi ctionalized scenes that developed a theory of Richard Nixon’s personality: essentially a lonely man who felt unloved from childhood onward. Like JFK , Nixon received criticism from those who felt it was too far afi eld from the historical record. Unlike its predecessor, however, Nixon failed to stir much public response, grossing much less than the $50 million cost of making the three- hours- plus movie.

An interesting footnote to Nixon that fell largely by the wayside, Dick (1999) was a farci-cal romp that answered the cinematic question: what if the famous eighteen- minute gap in the Watergate tapes had involved two teenage girls? A curious combination of teen comedy and broad political satire, Dick featured Michelle Williams and Kirsten Dunst as two teens who stray from their tour group while visiting the White House; the pair stumbles into the Oval Offi ce and hilarity ensues. Unfortunately, for all of its relentlessly cute put- ons of Nixon’s presidency, Dick was not particularly funny and failed to recoup even half of its minuscule $13 million budget. Some critics, however, liked its ability to “make particular aspects of the recent American past comprehensible to those too young to have lived them.” 15

Another quasi- historical presidential fi lm was one of the more interesting overtly politi-cal movies of the decade, Primary Colors (1998). Based on the best- selling roman à clef by Joe Klein (who originally published it anonymously), Primary Colors concerns the 1992 presidential campaign of one southern candidate who is notorious for his appetites. In other words, it is a thinly veiled interpretation of Bill Clinton’s run for the presidency. The fi lm, while notably even less accurate than either JFK or Nixon (it may even have given Dick competition in that regard), provides a stunningly insightful look at what made Clinton both such an effective candidate and a troubled president. Directed by Hollywood veteran Mike Nichols (perhaps best known for The Graduate , 1967), Primary Colors is most captivat-ing when star John Travolta, in his role as Governor Jack Stanton, is, in effect, imitating Bill Clinton. In a series of campaign vignettes, Travolta/Clinton mingles irascible personal charm with keen political and policy instinct in a way we would imagine the real Clinton doing.

Unfortunately, the fi lm’s insights seem to end with the remarkable take on Clinton, the human being. As a chronicle of the political process that enabled him to gain power, the fi lm has little to offer.

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High Crimes and Misdemeanors

The 1990s also saw a high tide of fi ctional suspense movies centered on the presidency, frequently involving miscreant presidents. In the Line of Fire (1993) was a generally effec-tive thriller, starring Clint Eastwood as a Secret Service agent whose career has been marred by his failure to protect President Kennedy in Dallas. John Malkovich portrayed the current president’s would- be assassin. Although by no means a fi lm with a particular political point to make—the focus is on the action and Eastwood’s struggle to redeem himself—the movie adequately refl ects the reality of a presidential election. Eastwood’s character, of course, is in the tradition of his Dirty Harry antihero; he snubs the bureaucracy and throws the pro-cedure book away at a footfall. The fi lm also includes some murky talk that the country is no longer what it used to be and that its fl ag has fallen, but this was not a resonant message. In the Line of Fire was one of the top- grossing movies of 1993 and received critical praise as well.

In Clear and Present Danger (1994), Harrison Ford reprised his role as author Tom Clancy’s superspy, Jack Ryan. The fi lm had nothing to do with Schenk v. United States , the Supreme Court ruling that free speech could be limited if its exercise presented a “clear and present danger.” Ryan is called in to clean up a murder spree on a yacht that has pos-sible connections to the president (a vaguely Reagan- looking Donald Moffat). The action proceeds down to South America, where a stereotypical Colombian drug warlord is holding Americans—who were fi ghting a secret war—captive. What ensues is a fairly gripping if by- the- numbers suspense movie. Interestingly, however, the script betrays little of author Clancy’s right- wing worldview because Ford demanded it be moderated, which was achieved by bringing in a more liberal coauthor. 16 In the original script, the Reagan- like president is not vilifi ed, whereas in the fi lm he is exposed by Ryan in testimony before Congress. The fi lm seemed to be the cinematic answer to the Iran- Contra affair: this time, the president does not skate away quite so easily.

Murder at 1600 (1997) and Absolute Power (1997) are two movies that seemed to be inspired by the Clinton administration. In each, the president is implicated in murder. In Murder at 1600 , Wesley Snipes portrayed detective Harlan Regis of the Washington, DC, police force, called in to investigate the murder of a striking blonde woman in the White House. A formulaic thriller that happens to be set in the president’s residence, Murder does not say much except to underscore that the president could be a very bad man.

Absolute Power is an equally mediocre exploration of presidential evildoing. Based on a William Goldman script loosely based on a novel by David Baldacci, directed by Clint East-wood, and starring Gene Hackman, it centers on a career burglar (Eastwood) who happens upon a sleazy sex- and- murder scene that involves . . . the president! The cowardly, beastly nature of the president’s crimes overshadows the sin of burglary and goes over the top to portray that political thriller fi xture, a corrupt politician. The “cancer” on this presidency is personal, not political, and so reminiscent of right- wing attacks on Clinton’s philandering and moral credibility.

Absolute Power did seem to pander to a hard right- wing sensibility. As critic Charles Taylor wrote, “Even the queasy, unpleasant tone . . . is perfect for conservatives, since they get to be titillated by the sex and violence . . . and take a shocked attitude toward it.” 17 East-wood’s libertarian- leaning politics assisted in this impression, while his skillful fi lmmaking and iconic appearance lift Absolute Power above yet another 1997 White House thriller,

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Shadow Conspiracy , about an assistant to the president, played by Charlie Sheen, catching on to a shadow government, a conspiracy “in the highest levels.” Presciently Ebert summed up the fi lm as “a simple- minded thriller that seems destined for mercy killing in the video stores after a short run before appalled audiences.” 18

Taken collectively, however, these movies intrigued in that they were released around the time that the Clinton administration was being accused of murdering aide Vince Foster (yet just before the Monica Lewinsky scandal broke). To the extent that they make such a sce-nario more plausible, such fi lms exacerbated an extraordinary (and ultimately groundless) attack on the White House.

Congressional Acts

A few fi lms of the 1990s had congressional settings. From the fi rst, Hollywood has viewed Congress as a corrupt institution, ripe for saving by a principled individual—much as Ameri-cans tend to view Congress dimly, but usually admire their own representative. No exception to the rule, The Distinguished Gentleman (1992) featured star Eddie Murphy as Thomas Jefferson Johnson, a con man who dupes his way into Congress when an incumbent dies. For a farce, the fi lm actually conveyed some of the actual trappings of the legislative process, including the importance of sitting on certain committees, the role of political action com-mittees (PACs), and the struggle over freshman offi ce space. The fi lm’s plot also turned on a real policy issue, the link between high- voltage transmission lines and cancer.

Produced by Marty Kaplan, a former speechwriter for Democratic presidential candidate Walter Mondale, The Distinguished Gentleman was loosely based on actual events— particularly scandals in the U.S. Congress. But despite its veneer of factualness, the movie provides only a dumb parody of legislative wrongdoing. When Johnson gets to Washington, he looks to exploit the system for his own betterment. Immediately, he is able to sell his votes (to the highest bidder, of course). “With all this money coming from both sides,” asks Congressman Johnson, “how could anything ever get done?” The answer, from a hooked- up lobbyist: “It doesn’t.”

Thus The Distinguished Gentleman makes Mr. Smith Goes to Washington seem positively nuanced in its depiction of Congress and its faults. (In fact, the fi lm’s press release actually referred to Eddie Murphy as “the Jimmy Stewart of the Nineties.”) When Johnson meets and becomes enamored of a pretty young lobbyist whose child may have gotten cancer by means of close proximity to power lines, he just cannot help but straighten up, fl y right, and in so doing expose the corrupt institution for what it is. The movie was only a modest fi nancial success and was generally pounded by critics for its insipid storytelling.

Just over ten years later, Legally Blonde 2: Red, White, and Blonde (2003) covered the same tired ground as The Distinguished Gentleman . The sequel to a funnier comedy fea-turing Reese Witherspoon as Elle Woods, a deceptively dim- looking blonde law student, Legally Blonde 2 inserts the same character into Congress as an aide to a congresswoman (Sally Field). The aide’s mission is to convince Congress to stop testing cosmetics on ani-mals. In the ensuing hilarity, Elle learns the truth about democracy and how self- serving Congress is. Critically panned in large part for its hackneyed plotting, the movie grossed a more than respectable $90 million. Together, Legally Blonde 2 and The Distinguished Gentleman helped to compound public misapprehension of Congress and did so in a way that was only marginally entertaining.

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Legal Matters

Some of the best overtly political fi lms of the decade focused on the American legal system and related policy issues. Director Milos Forman’s The People vs. Larry Flynt (1996) is a biography of Hustler magazine publisher Larry Flynt. Although the fi lm covers Flynt’s entire life, at its heart is Flynt’s obscenity trial in 1987. Flynt’s magazine had published a cartoon that depicted conservative televangelist Jerry Falwell as an incestuous drunk, and Falwell sued for $40 million in damages. After the fi lm fi rst familiarizes us with Flynt’s crudeness, it next traces the progress of the suit all the way to the Supreme Court. Edward Norton, in the role of Flynt’s attorney, provides a compelling oral argument and gamely banters with the court (itself rarely a cinematic setting). The fi lm is as effective as any at relating the logic and importance of the First Amendment guarantee of free speech in a democratic society.

Civil Action (1998) depicted the experiences of real- life trial lawyer Jan Schlictmann (John Travolta), who evolves from a self- interested ambulance chaser into a public inter-est attorney. The fi lm focuses on a lawsuit brought against multinational corporations for polluting a Massachusetts town. Instead of milking this story for a predictable Hollywood storyline, Civil Action luxuriates in the ambiguities and complexities of high- stakes civil liti-gation. It also avoids the tendency of movies—particularly those set in the legal system—to separate the courtroom into good guys and bad guys, searching instead for how and why the winners win and the losers lose. As Roger Ebert wrote, Civil Action is “like John Grisham for grownups.” 19 Due to its high- profi le cast, Civil Action was expensive to make and failed to recoup its $60 million budget at the domestic box offi ce.

Perhaps the most compelling fi lm of the decade with a legal system setting was The Insider (1999). Directed by Michael Mann (a director better known for action fi lms like Heat ), the movie makes the true story of a scientist for a tobacco company, Jeffrey Wigand, feel like a gripping suspense yarn—without compromising the politically charged material. Instead of the conventional Hollywood claptrap about a little guy who takes on the system and wins, The Insider gives serious consideration to the notion that everyone in a legal confl ict has an agenda, the media included. A star- studded cast (including Russell Crowe as Wigand and Al Pacino as CBS news producer Lowell Bergman) is given ample room to fi ll in the shadows between black and white. Director Mann makes characteristically good use of lighting (and frequently, the lack thereof) to give the proceedings a healthy tinge of sus-pense. Despite seven Oscar nominations (including Best Picture and Crowe for Best Actor), The Insider actually lost money, which probably did not improve the prospects for future intelligent, politically charged fi lm projects.

Citizen Ruth (1996) was an independently produced look at both sides of the abortion debate from a heavily satiric perspective. It starred Laura Dern as Ruth, an indigent drug abuser (she “huffs” toxic fumes from various kinds of spray cans) who gets pregnant and may or may not want an abortion. But the fi lm is really about lampooning the extremists on both sides of the abortion issue, who are soundly and equally ridiculed throughout Citizen Ruth . Antiabortionists are depicted as hymn- singing “baby savers” while abortion rights activists are lesbians who sing New Age hymns to the moon.

A more successful fi lm by the same director as Ruth (Alexander Payne) defi ed easy cat-egorization. Election (1999) would seem to be an intentionally political fi lm because its subject matter is a high school student council election. Matthew Broderick stars as civics teacher Jim McAllister, who very much wants one student, Tracy Flick, to lose the election,

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since her affair with one of his colleagues resulted in scandal. Meanwhile, unhappy at home, McAllister is embarking on an affair of his own with a family friend. His efforts to make Tracy lose the election ultimately result in personal and professional humiliation. Although Election is hilarious for its send- ups of high school personalities (and perhaps the banality of teaching high school civics), it does not try to present a pointed satire of the American political system. Most of the dark humor revolves around the foibles of its characters’ per-sonalities, although the election itself is broadly presented as a farce.

Political Science Fiction

Several science fi ction fi lms of the 1990s seemed to resonate politically. If there was a single unifying theme of the decade’s sci- fi , it was a sense of alienation fueled by the perception that the outside world and all its institutions are a facade for a darker, mind- numbing force that commands conformity from all humanity. This seemed to be the idea behind such popu-lar fantasies as The Truman Show (1998), The Matrix (1999), and the lesser- known Dark City (1991). A far more comedic entry, Men in Black (1996), also touched on a similar vein.

In The Truman Show , Jim Carey plays the title role of a man, Truman Burbank, who is blissfully unaware that his entire life is a TV show watched by millions every day. When Truman discovers the truth, he becomes outraged and seeks to fl ee the giant set in which he has been living, which does not sit well with the corporate giant behind the TV show of his life. The show’s director and Truman’s personal manipulator, Christof (Ed Harris), seeks to keep Truman imprisoned.

The Truman Show is interesting for the way it presaged and critiqued the American obses-sion with reality television—people keep watching Truman’s life with voyeuristic gusto, even though nothing interesting happens. Its premise, that one’s life is lived in a glass jar for the amusement of others, was captivating at the outset. Unfortunately, the movie never got too far beyond its premise, devolving into an action piece. Its life- affi rming, Hollywood stock ending (yes, Truman escapes!) is far less original than its start. The outcome implies that no matter how artifi cial our world may seem, individualism can emerge triumphant.

Beyond the endless Star Wars sequels, perhaps the science fi ction smash of the decade was The Matrix (1999). Keanu Reeves plays Neo, a computer hacker who is led to believe that reality as he and everyone on earth knows it is a collective dream fed by a massive com-puter system known as the Matrix. The Matrix imprisons humanity in a dream state as it sucks the life force out of its bodies. A group of rebels contacts Neo and informs him that he must play a role in defeating the Matrix.

The Matrix was a surprise megahit produced, written, and directed by two relative unknowns, Andy and Larry Wachowski. Much of its appeal was doubtlessly found in the groundbreaking digitalized special effects used for its action sequences—the movie was a natural for the then newly popular, home theater audio- video systems. But the theme of alienation and ennui spawned by a consumer society also seemed to strike a collective nerve. One British critic reasoned that The Matrix and its two sequels might refl ect the “widespread feeling of helplessness in the United States.” 20

Unfortunately, the potential for exploring that theme was largely squandered in favor of mind- numbing action sequences in the sequels, The Matrix Reloaded (2003) and The Matrix Revolutions (2003), which tended in stretches to resemble long video games rather than movies. Although both movies were fi nancial successes (due in large part to international

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box offi ce receipts), perhaps the unabashed use of Cadillac product placements ran against the grain of selling alienation from mass society.

Dark City (1998), a much smaller picture than The Matrix trilogy (its budget was a mere $27 million), featured a nearly identical premise. John Murdoch (Rufus Sewell) is an amne-siac who awakens to learn that he may be a serial killer. Murdoch learns that a mysterious group called the Strangers controls the entire city. Through a process called the Tuning, the Strangers can manipulate time and physical space. Dark City follows Murdoch’s efforts to thwart the Strangers and discover his own identity.

Although it resembles The Matrix in its theme of alienation amid a world of facades, Dark City has an entirely different look and feel. Thanks to the remarkable visual world created by George Liddle and Patrick Tatopoulos, the fi lm luxuriates in a timeless sense of foreboding that invokes Fritz Lang’s silent classic, Metropolis . Dark City also operates on a more personal level than the Matrix series, which may have muted its effect as a political vehicle. It never caught on with mass audiences, either, barely recouping its original budget in domestic and international box offi ce.

A much bigger fi nancial success was the comic book adaptation Men in Black (1997). Yet again, life on earth is but a veneer for another “real” world. In this one, aliens of all sorts reside on and frequently visit earth. It is the duty of government agents, played by Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones, to keep this alien infl ux a secret from earthlings. Men in Black is a harmless if amusing high- tech farce, and the aliens are generally lovable CGI (computer- generated imagery) creations. The fi lm’s satire is directed at other movies more than at real political institutions. Sequels Men in Black II (2002) and Men in Black 3 (2012) were less successful both critically and fi nancially.

In retrospect, as a decade, the 1990s provided little basis for hope that Hollywood would commit itself to making thoughtful, overtly political movies. The best efforts in that regard were generally independent fi lms or box offi ce fl ops, and frequently both. Although much is sometimes made of a liberal Hollywood agenda, relatively few movies pursued leftist causes very openly. On the other hand, even fewer projected a traditional or conservative point of view.

Notes

1 . Jon Clark, “Primary Color: Green: Why the Studios Won’t Make Political Movies (Bottom Line Continues to Be Financial, Not Political),” The Nation , April 5, 1999.

2 . Roger Ebert, “Natural Born Killers,” www.rogerebert.com/reviews/natural- born- killers- 1994. 3 . “Interview: The Return of John Sayles,” Indiewire, www.indiewire.com/article/interview_the_

return_of_john_sayles_from_secaucus_to_the_sunshine_state2. 4 . Janet Maslin, “Deciding the World’s Fate From the Ocean’s Bottom,” New York Times , www.

nytimes.com/1995/05/12/movies/fi lm- review- crimson- tide- deciding- the- world- s- fate- from- the- ocean- s- bottom.html.

5 . Jack Sheehan, Reel Bad Arabs: How Hollywood Vilifi es a People (Northampton, MA: Interlink Publishing Group, 2001).

6 . Susan M. Akram, “The Aftermath of September 11, 2001: The Targeting of Arabs and Muslims in America,” Arab Studies Quarterly 24 (Spring–Summer 2002): 66–86.

7 . “Interview with ‘The Siege’ director: Ed Zwick,” Life and Times Tonight, KCET in Los Angeles, transcript, www.thescreamonline.com/commentary/comment2- 1/index.html.

8 . Hal Hinson, Washington Post , January 5, 1990. 9 . Edward Guthmann, San Francisco Chronicle , April 28, 1995.

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10 . Andrew Gumbel, “Back to the Future: In 1999, Three Kings —a Film on the Gulf War—Made Little Impact. Today, It Seems Chillingly Prescient,” Independent (London, England), May 28, 2004.

11 . Rita Kempley, Washington Post , May 7, 1993. 12 . Chicago Sun- Times , December 20, 1991. 13 . Roger Rosenstone, “Film Historian Says Nixon Follows a Tradition of Mixing Truth and Fiction,”

Orange County Register , December 29, 1995. 14 . William D. Romanowski, “Oliver Stone’s JFK: Commercial Filmmaking, Cultural History, and

Confl ict,” Journal of Popular Film and Television 21, no. 2 (Summer 1993): 63–71. 15 . J. Hoberman, Village Voice , August 4, 1999. 16 . Bruce Fretts, “After Surviving One Clash with Tom Clancy, Harrison Ford and the Patriot Games

Team Head Back into the Danger Zone,” Entertainment Weekly , August 19, 1994. 17 . Charles Taylor, review of Absolute Power , Salon , www.salon.com/1997/03/14/absolute/. 18 . Roger Ebert, “Shadow Conspiracy,” www.rogerebert.com/reviews/shadow- conspiracy- 1997. 19 . Chicago Sun- Times , January 8, 1999. 20 . Philip Hensher, “ The Matrix Reloaded Should Worry America’s Leaders,” Independent , www.

questia.com/library/1P2–1759173/the- matrix- reloaded- should- worry- america- s- leaders.

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The Twenty- First Century 9/11 and Beyond

Zero Dark Thirty (2012) Dow

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The specter of the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon dealt the new millennium a unique opportunity for popular fi lm to reemerge as a political force. The question hovering over the early part of the decade was how Hollywood would approach these events. Would it repeat the pro- America propaganda of World War II fi lms, remain tight- lipped as with Vietnam- era fi lms, or move faster to criticize both the failure of the George W. Bush administration to prevent the attacks and also its ensuing wars in Afghanistan and Iraq? A few prominent voices even wondered if Hollywood would look into the mirror and consider its own culpability. In projecting on- screen fantasies of spec-tacular mass destruction, had Hollywood contributed to this unprecedented disaster? Robert Altman, the director of the antiwar classic M*A*S*H (1970) and the biting industry satire The Player (1992), thought so. For their intrinsically violent fantasies he laid the blame of 9/11 squarely at Hollywood’s feet: “The movies set the pattern, and these people have copied the movies. Nobody would have thought to commit an atrocity like that unless they’d seen it in a movie.” 1 Jean Baudrillard also accused the industry of complicity, arguing that with its stock- in- trade of spectacularly destructive images, Hollywood fi lms expressed a barely sublimated wish that the terrorists simply acted out: “Countless disaster movies bear witness to this fantasy which they clearly attempt to exorcise with images, drowning out the whole thing with special effects.” 2 In some respects, the industry ratifi ed this view with its initial circumspect response, followed by a return to business as usual with scenes of mass destruc-tion again dominating the multiplex.

To begin, Hollywood was not particularly quick to exploit the 9/11 attacks, although the selection of Arab terrorists had become common long before 2001. The predictable Arnold Schwarzenegger thriller Collateral Damage (2001) was delayed for several months because its subject matter involved a terrorist plot, while the release of The Quiet American (2002) was also put on hold for fear its critical look at foreign involvement in Vietnam might incite backlash. At the same time, Hollywood rushed ahead the release of the combat drama Black Hawk Down (2001). Directed by Ridley Scott in a gritty verité style, the fi lm was a remark-ably downbeat war movie that depicted the ill- fated 1992 American military mission in Mogadishu, Somalia, a country devastated by famine and civil war. As in Three Kings , the soldiers in Black Hawk Down learn that they are fi ghting only for themselves and their bud-dies; the script implies that the political decision makers in the Clinton administration are to blame for their predicament.

Black Hawk Down generated criticism over the way Somalis were depicted—largely as targets in a shooting gallery. In fact, more than a thousand Somalis were killed during the battle depicted in the fi lm. A telling footnote: when Black Hawk Down was screened in Mogadishu (a bootleg version, shown outdoors) in 2002, the Somali audience cheered as American helicopters crashed and soldiers died. Their reaction testifi ed to how elastic mov-ies’ political effects can be and showed that no matter what political messages a fi lm might bear, audiences will decode its narrative imagery in the context of their own experiences and existing political sentiment.

Perhaps the earliest explicit fi ctional link to the September 11 attacks was The Sum of All Fears (2002). Another fi lm version of a Tom Clancy/Jack Ryan novel, The Sum of All Fears featured young star Ben Affl eck in the role previously played by Harrison Ford and Alec Baldwin. A group of terrorists in Russia are able to obtain nuclear weapons from the former USSR; the novelty of this fi lm is that they detonate such a device in Baltimore. Beyond that chilling link to the contemporary fear associated with terrorism, however, The Sum of All

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Fears had little to do with the subject matter of terrorism or even weapons of mass destruc-tion (WMD). Despite a cool response from most critics, The Sum of All Fears did reasonably brisk business at the box offi ce.

In 2002, eleven directors of different nationalities each made an eleven- minute fi lm responding to 9/11 and released them together as the feature fi lm September 11 . With pieces by Youssef Chahine (Egypt), Mira Nair (India), Ken Loach (UK), and others, the fi lm was hailed by critics as “a monumental achievement,” “fascinating,” and “artful,” while Variety decried it as “stridently un- American.” According to Nair, it had trouble getting an Ameri-can release because “it is an overtly political fi lm.” 4 Her own contribution was based on the true story of a young Islamic man who went missing that day in New York. When the FBI got involved in the case, not to help fi nd him but because his name and religion made him a suspect, neighbors turned on his family. Eventually it is discovered he was one of the day’s heroes: a trained paramedic, he raced to the Twin Towers and lost his life helping survivors.

Politically active Hollywood star Sean Penn made September 11 ’s American contribu-tion, about an elderly widower, played by Ernest Borgnine, who, in a confused state of mourning and befuddlement, lays out his dead wife’s dress for her while oblivious to the events played and replayed on the television screen in his small apartment. (Not long after the fi lm’s international debut, Penn took out a full- page ad in the Washington Post protest-ing impending military action in Iraq.) At the other end of the spectrum, Mexican director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu’s short fi lm shows in harrowing detail what much of the media coverage downplayed: images of people with arms and legs fl ailing tumbling from the tow-ers to their deaths.

Wanting to avoid what he called “political gibberish and rhetoric,” Inarritu stressed, “This event is beyond politics. It has more to do with the dark side of our nature.” 5 Yet restoring to sight the edited vision of falling bodies constituted an act of political remediation by creating fi lm images that contested or corrected the corporate media’s standard presentation of events. Ostensible focus on the “dark side” of a universal humanity yields in this short fi lm a trenchant critique, bringing into relief the way images deemed watchable by major television networks, like those of the planes hitting the towers, mirror the kinds of large- scale destruction already screening in movie theaters. Inarritu’s vision thus accords with Altman’s view that the original attacks “copied the movies.” Unlike Michael Moore’s fi lms that were also criticized for perceived anti- American sentiment and also sought to show sides to the Bush administration’s march to war not prominently featured in corporate media news, September 11 never found a prominent American distributor and remains little known in the United States.

In 2004, the commercial fi lm most literally dedicated to the events of 9/11 with the wid-est release opened. United 93 imagined in real time the hijacking of United Flight 93 and the passengers’ success in banding together with the remaining crew to thwart the terrorists’ plans. The plane went down in a fi eld in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, rather than crashing in Washington, DC, at a site like the White House or the Capitol, as was feared would happen. While no one survived the crash, no damage befell any other federal landmark, nor were any other lives lost. On a day of unprecedented loss and destruction caused by the three other hijacked fl ights hitting their targets, many Americans took pride in the presumed heroism of the rebelling passengers. A movie about United Flight 93 was therefore taking on a near- sacred national story and risked backlash, the sense that even after fi ve years it was still “too soon.”

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To avoid the perception of blatant exploitation, director Paul Greengrass ( Green Zone , 2010; Captain Phillips , 2013) cast little- known actors to play people presented with no per-sonal histories. Viewers come to know the passengers and terrorists as they came to know each other—solely in the context of events unfolding on the plane. While advertising for the fi lm made it seem like a more conventional action- thriller and therefore politically manipu-lative or jingoistic, the fi lm as a whole does its best to establish an objective point of view detached from specifi c political scenarios. As Ebert noted, “The movie contains no politics. No theory. No patriotic speeches.” 6 United 93 depicts the military struggling to get permis-sion to attack commercial fl ights but does not cast blame why such confusion of command occurred. The famous last words “Let’s roll” can be heard as passengers prepare to storm the cockpit, but they are not used to build any one character into a hero. Its circumscribed approach to complex material succeeded with the public, and the fi lm earned double its production costs.

A decade later, Non- Stop (2014) fulfi lled what the ad campaign and trailer for United 93 misleadingly promised, an action thriller aboard a plane, with hijackers—not snakes ( Snakes on a Plane , 2006)—playing the enemy. Non- Stop ’s tagline, “The hijacking was just the beginning,” refers to the predicament that global action star Liam Neeson faces as a fed-eral air marshal challenged both to save passengers and to unravel the mystery of who is framing him. Playing the fi lm’s suspect and hero at once, Neeson’s character stands in for a confl icted view of the United States as the world’s lone superpower, its savior and villain. Neeson’s action- thriller persona—honed to the point of parody in fi lms like Taken (2008), Taken 2 (2012), and The Grey (2011)—placed amid chaotic violence aboard a plane, how-ever, promises to revise 9/11’s traumatic imagery by giving viewers an Anglo hero certain to turn the tables on the mysterious, faceless force of evil aligned against him. The revision-ist irony is compounded by the fact that the terrorists turn out to be disillusioned American soldiers, one the son of a man killed in the 9/11 attacks. As 1980s fi lms revised the trauma of Vietnam, this fi lm revisits imagined scenes inside 9/11’s planes- turned- to- weapons and rewrites the ending so that, to paraphrase Rambo, “we get to win this time.” 7 Winning aboard the planes would mean preempting the actions leading to war in Iraq and Afghanistan and the subsequent disillusionment and cynicism of typical combat soldiers like those terror-izing the plane. At the same time, the fi lm celebrates Anglo heroics at the expense of its disgruntled soldiers- turned- terrorists. This revised view of Western militarism implies that the recent foreign wars have recycled and, at the same time, inverted the enemy, obliquely delegitimating the ongoing crisis in postwar veteran rehabilitation and treatment. In other words, this fi lm would prefer to rid itself of any reminder of the post- 9/11 American wars, veterans included.

Twenty- First Century War Films

Less than a month after the 9/11 attacks, President Bush ordered retaliatory strikes against the Taliban government and al- Qaeda terrorist training camps in Afghanistan. That initial act of aggression escalated into a war that continued through Bush’s two terms in offi ce and into the second term of President Barack Obama. Not long after launching its offensive against Afghanistan, the Bush administration indicated that under dictator Saddam Hussein, Iraq, too, was involved in the 9/11 attacks. The administration also claimed Iraq possessed WMD, including chemical weapons, and warned Americans and the United Nations that Iraq would

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unleash these weapons unless stopped by a preemptive show of force. In March 2003, the United States invaded Iraq. As in every military campaign since World War II, the United States never formally declared war against either Afghanistan or Iraq, yet the U.S. military presence in Iraq lasted long past initial projections. By the end of 2003, American troops had captured Saddam Hussein, and President Bush had declared an end to major combat opera-tions, yet the occupation continued. A few years later, most Americans had turned against the Iraq war, but not until 2011 did the United States complete the withdrawal of its military forces. While trying to negotiate some kind of postwar troop presence, currently the United States plans to pull all American brigades from Afghanistan at the end of 2014, making the war there the longest in U.S. history. Meanwhile in fall of 2014, the United States launched air attacks in Iraq and Syria against the terror group Islamic State in what appeared to be the start of a new chapter of a war never formally declared and seemingly never- ending.

How did Hollywood react to this prolonged period of military campaigns abroad? Early on, Winston Wheeler Dixon made this diagnosis:

While some contemporary fi lms offer escapism, the bulk of mainstream American cinema since 9/11, whether the fi lms were in production before or not, seems centered on a desire to replicate the idea of the “just war,” in which military reprisals, and the concomitant escalation of warfare, are simultaneously inevitable and justifi ed. 8

Dixon here identifi es a pattern that resembles the 1940s Hollywood war- fi lm- as- propaganda. Briefl y put, this period of fi lms helped enshrine the “greatest generation,” who fought and endured World War II and, most importantly, prevailed. Films like Bataan (1943), Back to Bataan (1945), The Wings of Eagles (1957), and even the Vietnam- set The Green Berets (1968) burned with propagandistic passion, endorsing war as necessary and honorable, an ideological trend that lasted well into the 1970s and then briefl y subsided as the loss in Vietnam and a new generation of fi lmmakers produced popular antiwar fi lms like The Deer Hunter (1978) and Apocalypse Now (1979).

The next decade, the propagandist tendencies of the war genre resurfaced in historically revisionist fi lms. The Rambo series salvaged the “bad” war in Vietnam and rehabilitated the image of American soldiers as brave men victimized not by the enemy but by gut-less, hypocritical government bureaucrats. In Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985), Vietnam veteran John Rambo utters the franchise’s signature line. To the military’s request that he return to “’Nam” to aid American POWs, Rambo says, “Do we get to win this time?” The commander’s reply, “This time it’s up to you,” completes the fi lm’s political agenda to wrest the business of war from presidential and congressional control and hand it to the military—an agenda that might have been realized had Vietnam veteran and former POW John McCain ever been successful in his bids for the presidency. This subset of war fi lms recovered the vanquished American soldier’s valor while simultaneously restoring integrity to the cause and purpose of war. A reclaimed vision of war as honorable was then amplifi ed by the post- Vietnam, post- Gulf War, pre- 9/11 fi lms Saving Private Ryan (1998), Pearl Harbor (2001), and Windtalkers (2002). Films like these looked back to the “good war” of World War II to redefi ne not simply “the troops” as noble but war itself as a worthy endeavor. And Steven Spielberg’s critical and popular smash hit Saving Private Ryan revised even the “good war” by sending the message that the United States defeated the Nazis practically by itself.

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The early twenty- fi rst century “just war” model followed a similar path. A remake from the 1970s updated to the early years in the Afghan and Iraq wars, Walking Tall (2004) stars Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson as Army Special Forces Sgt. Chris Vaughn. After combat service, Vaughn returns to his hometown only to fi nd it degraded by drugs, violence, and a dying economy. Trading his fatigues for a sheriff’s badge, Vaughn “liberates” the town from corruption with a vigilante spirit and a trained expertise inherited from his army experience. (In the run- up to a war he vigorously endorsed, Vice President Richard Cheney famously said of the Iraq invasion, “We will be greeted as liberators.”) In a fi lm popular enough to break even, The Rock, a Republican supporter, handily wins Walking Tall ’s “just war” though it has been displaced from abroad to a remote town in the Northwest.

As suggested by its title, Home of the Brave (2004) was the fi rst major release to dramatize battles inside Iraq as well as the social and psychological complexity surrounding veterans’ return home. It drew comparisons with one of the seminal post-World War II fi lms represent-ing the traumatized vets’ reentry into society, The Best Years of Our Lives (1946). Unlike that fi lm, however, Home of the Brave was considered “an honorable dud,” failing critically and fi nancially. 9 The movie portrays a National Guard unit about to be sent home when it sud-denly gets one last assignment: a humanitarian mission. The fi lm follows three members of the predictably ambushed unit in their journey back home, where life has proceeded without them. Vanessa, played by Jessica Biel, lost a hand in the ambush and returns with a pros-thetic, while Will, played by a volatile Samuel Jackson, comes home to a son disenchanted with him and his war. When asked by his wife what it was like “over there,” Will responds, “I don’t really remember. It’s like a dream . . . a hazy dream.” That combined haziness of geography and recall of purpose bleeds into the fi lm and its resemblance to formulaic war fi lms about the good that soldiers do despite the homefolks who do not understand them. War is simply war, no matter where it is fought or under what circumstances it is launched. Even with the uniquely wrenching situation of volunteer National Guards called to active duty abroad, Home of the Brave failed to distinguish the Iraq war from any other.

Eventually the tide of fi lms sympathetic to framing war as retributive justice gave rise to those more resembling the popular late- 1970s fi lms of Coppola and Cimino. These fi lms of the Iraq– Afghanistan era made it diffi cult to view warfare as both “inevitable and justifi ed.”

Atrocious War

A scandal involving New York Times journalist Judith Miller revealed that the Bush admin-istration and specifi cally the offi ce of Vice President Cheney had planted news reports about Iraq’s alleged hoarding of WMD and then pointed to those reports as proof of the weapons’ existence. The case for the invasion presented by Secretary of State Colin Powell to the United Nations fell apart. At the same time as justifi cation for the Iraq invasion began to shrivel under scrutiny, the predicted “cakewalk” against Hussein’s military turned into a pro-longed boots- on- the- ground battle against an unanticipated armed insurgency. 10 Even after the defeat of the Taliban, the confl ict in Afghanistan wore on in a similarly ugly and confus-ing fashion: who was the enemy now? What would victory look like? Against this backdrop, some fi lms began to question—implicitly in their vilifi cation of governmental agencies and openly in the dialogue of complex storylines—the politically freighted decision to wage war. They bore down on what undeclared war against a non- state enemy like the terrorist group al- Qaeda really entailed. At the same time, scandals around the outsourcing of war to

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private contractors, the behavior of U.S. troops toward civilians abroad, the use of torture on political prisoners, and other human rights abuses came to defi ne the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

In 2007, a plunge in American support for the Iraq war coincided with the debut of a spate of fi lms about it. These divided into two broad categories. One strand focused on controver-sial U.S. policies condoning torture and on atrocities committed by American troops. The other concerned the anguished plight of the American soldier caught up in a confl ict once considered just and good, if only for having been billed as retribution for the 9/11 attacks, now suddenly tipping into “bad war,” morally and tactically contested, Vietnam territory.

Brian DePalma’s Redacted is a fi ctionalized account of the real- life rape and murder of 14- year- old Iraqi Abeer Qasim Hamza al- Janabi and the killing of her family by American soldiers. This storyline compares to DePalma’s Vietnam- set Casualties of War (1989). If Vietnam was the war fought on televisions in America’s living rooms, DePalma presents Iraq as the war fought on video via a variety of media, including handheld camcorders, mobile phones, surveillance cameras, and Internet streams. Pieced together in an episodic narrative, Redacted ’s choppy, verité style imitates both contemporary media and the moral aimlessness and brutality of the troops as they struggle to survive the confused purpose of the Iraqi occupation. Promotions for the fi lm spoke to the “edited” of its title: “See what they don’t want you to see; what’s been redacted.” The fi lm’s use of supposedly found footage for a French documentary played on the supposition that, like the justifi cation for the invasion, the war itself was being produced and packaged for public consumption. “I mean what are we doing here?” one soldier asks about the raid on Abeer’s home. His line refl ects the fi lm’s questioning of the purpose behind continued American involvement in Iraq.

Like Redacted , Nick Broomfi eld’s Battle for Haditha dramatizes in graphic imagery the real- life massacre by American troops of twenty- four Iraqis, almost half of them women and children, including toddlers. All were shot at close range. Using nonprofessional and little- known actors, including Iraqi war refugees and former Marines, the fi lm opens with soldiers addressing the camera in tormented confusion and bitter cynicism to answer the question, “Why are we here?” The fi lm short- circuits the political propaganda surrounding the real- life event and returns the incident to its historical circumstance. Doing so creates a modicum of sympathy for the battle- weary, psychologically scarred Marines without let-ting them off the hook. The public’s rejection of Redacted and Battle for Haditha suggested that these fi lms’ unblinking approach to horrifi c events so vastly counter to popular images of “our troops” was too politically threatening to Americans already disillusioned by the Iraq war.

Directed by Oscar- winner Paul Haggis ( Crash , 2004), In The Valley of Elah nonetheless continued this exploration of atrocities committed by American soldiers, only this time the crime occurs stateside against one of their own. Army Specialist Mike Deerfi eld returns home only to be reported AWOL and then to turn up murdered, his charred and dismembered body buried in the New Mexico desert. His father Hank (Tommy Lee Jones) is a retired mili-tary police offi cer. He prods police detective Emily Sanders (Charlize Theron) until fi nally he moves to his son’s base in New Mexico to fi nd his own answers. Erratic clues in the form of texts and images sent by Mike from Iraq lead Hank to suspect his son’s own comrades. Hank’s search to fi nd the truth about what the Iraq war has been like for Mike’s generation gradually intensifi es the fi lm’s sense of dread and foreboding as the look of the fi lm grows

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increasingly washed- out and stark. Part police procedural, part father– son story, In the Val-ley of Elah registers its political perspective in clear terms: The war in Iraq has produced more casualties than body counts suggest, and it has harmed this country in ways certain to be long- lasting and elusive to healing.

Grace Is Gone shares In the Valley of Elah ’s concern for the widening gulf between the thin slice of Americans who fi ght the nation’s wars and the much wider swath who get no closer to battle than sporting a yellow “Support Our Troops” magnet on their SUVs. John Cusack plays Stan, a Midwestern father looking after his two young girls while their mother, his wife Grace, is stationed in Iraq. Poor eyesight got Stan rejected by the army when 9/11 prompted him to enlist. The fi lm says he serves now by staying home and letting his wife fi ght the war they both have supported. (He is the only man in a support group for army spouses.) When he receives news of Grace’s death, he puts off telling his daughters and instead takes them on a road trip to Florida for a last perfect day. Along the way they visit his childhood home and his antiwar brother. Although less politically vociferous than Redacted , The Battle for Haditha , or even the biblically titled war- murder- mystery In the Valley of Elah , the quieter Grace Is Gone fared little better at the box offi ce.

Rendition returned to the Bush administration’s controversial alteration of long- standing American policies against torture, dramatizing the rendition to a North African country of an Egyptian- born engineer named Anwar (Omar Metwally) on his way home to Chicago and his blonde, pregnant wife, Isabella (Reese Witherspoon). Suspected of terrorist activity, Anwar is handed over to a police commissioner by an increasingly disenchanted and dissolute CIA agent, Douglas Freeman, played by Jake Gyllenhaal. This tactic is referred to as “rendi-tion.” (The UK released the very similar Extraordinary Rendition also in 2007.) Rendition ’s storyline cuts back and forth between scenes of Anwar’s horrifi c torture in Africa and the corridors of power in Washington, DC, where rendition policy is an open secret. Debates about ends justifying means and Isabella’s desperate attempts to get anyone in Washington even to acknowledge Anwar’s existence layer complexity into the fi lm’s political point of view. The New York Times noted, “While hardly neutral—it may not shock you to learn that the fi lmmakers come out against torture, kidnapping, and other abuses— Rendition nonethe-less tries to be evenhanded and thoughtful.” 11 Like Redacted , Battle for Haditha , and In the Valley of Elah , and for all its attempts to treat contentious issues seriously, Rendition met with cries of anti- Americanism and fi nancial loss.

Lions for Lambs eschewed war atrocities to focus on the immorality of an apathetic public and business- as- usual political establishment during a time of war. Featuring an all- star cast including Meryl Streep and Tom Cruise, its triptych storyline plays out on a college campus, in a U.S. senator’s offi ce, and across the nearly forgotten battlefi elds of Afghanistan. Robert Redford, a politically active celebrity densely associated with the environmental movement and the political cynicism of 1970s fi lms as various as All the President’s Men , The Candidate , and Three Days of the Condor , directed and starred. He plays Vietnam veteran and history professor Dr. Stephen Malley, trying to shake a student out of his self- absorbed frat life and political apathy. In the second storyline, Cruise plays Republican senator and presidential hopeful Jasper Irving, offering coveted face time to high- profi le journalist Janine Roth. The two have been mutually benefi cial to each other’s careers and Irving has summoned her for his pitch to escalate the war in Afghanistan by way of Iran. She is appropriately skeptical, even appalled, yet also seduced by his naked ambition unchecked by the disaster of Iraq and the stalemate of Afghanistan.

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The third story belongs to Ernest Rodriguez and Arian Finch, two of Malley’s former students who heeded his call for engagement by enlisting. Neither Latino Rodriquez nor African- American Finch supports the wars, but both think that by serving they can work for change from within “the system.” The New York Times complained about the fi lm’s didacti-cism: “Career Politicians, the Fourth Estate and Disaffected Youth all earn a stern knuckle rapping” in this “big- screen lecture about civic responsibility and its absence in the Age of Iraq.” 12 The ending underscores the political point when the earnest, ill- prepared soldiers die tragic deaths in a botched mission, lambs sacrifi ced all too easily by lions like politi-cal opportunist Irving and a self- interested press corps too willing to play along. Lions for Lambs , too, fl opped fi nancially.

Pro- Soldier

The lackluster box offi ce showing of 2007’s war fi lms did not halt the production of war movies, a development that defi es fi nancially conservative Hollywood history. In another break with the industry’s past, the following year two women directors released war mov-ies: Kathryn Bigelow’s The Hurt Locker and Kimberly Peirce’s Stop- Loss . Consciously attempting to occupy politically neutral territory and still tell the story of war, both fi lms foreground the experiences of American soldiers in Iraq and back home. In these fi lms’ Iraq scenes, unlike in Home of the Brave , unstable point- of- view cinematography dominates, with queasy realism the primary effect. In Peirce’s fi lm, this technique occurs in the opening montage of still images and video shot, edited, and put to music by soldiers just like real footage her own brother sent her. (The events of 9/11 compelled him to enlist.)

Inspired by her brother’s wartime experiences and videos, Pierce wrote Stop- Loss about a group of soldiers returning to Texas from Iraq profoundly damaged in ways psychological and physical, only to be called up for another tour of duty thanks to a merciless policy that gives the fi lm its ironic name. Observing their crackups—bar fi ghts, night terrors, drunk- craziness—the girlfriend of one soldier suffering an especially volatile case of PTSD asks, “What happened to these guys?” The fi lm implies an answer lifted from a 1970s anti- Vietnam fi lm: a “bad war” happened to them. But it also spends a lot of time with veteran Brandon King, played by Ryan Phillippe, as he tries to fi ght the politics of redeployment. The senator from whom he seeks reprieve is no help: “Our country needs you to go back. You know it’s the right thing to do.” King yells, “Fuck the president!” before giving up plans to fl ee, obeys the stop- loss order, and reveals the fi lm’s ideological hand: Like it or not, soldiers do the right thing by obeying unjust rules to fi ght even illegitimate wars.

Peirce explained Stop- Loss ’s political balance between taking a soldier’s point of view and objecting to U.S. war policy: “This movie is defi nitely pro- soldier. It may not be pro the Stop- Loss policy. But we have tried to honor and show with great compassion and under-standing the unique experience of these brave men.” 13 The promotional campaign for the fi lm tiptoed so gingerly around the topic (for fear audiences would reject it out of hand based on genre alone) and the fi lm’s focus falls so narrowly on the soldiers that the Dallas Observer titled its review, “Iraq War Movie Stop- Loss Does Its Best Not to Mention the War.” 14 By sidestepping the war, the political controversies around the reasons for going to war, the changes to torture policies and practices, and the shift from a preemptive inva-sion to embroilment in a regional war, Stop- Loss tried to distinguish itself from its failed contemporaries and elicit audiences’ emotional investment through identifi cation with its

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characters’ youthful pain. Said Peirce, “This is really the fi rst one, I think, from the soldier’s point of view. It really has a rock ‘n’ roll, young, authentic feel, and it’s totally a young cast. No one else is giving these guys a voice.” 15 Stop- Loss received a Prism award for its por-trayal of mental health issues, but fi nancially it fell victim to what became known as “Iraq war fatigue.”

Kathryn Bigelow echoed Peirce in promoting the politics- neutral agenda of The Hurt Locker : “The story is from a soldier’s point of view.” 16 Taking place predominantly in Iraq, The Hurt Locker opens with the inscription “War is a drug” and then follows a series of incidents involving an explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) squad and its leader, adrenaline addict William James, played by Jeremy Renner. Though his friendship with a local boy begins to play tricks on his mind and he has a toddler son back in the States, when given the chance James chooses his job in- country over safety and boredom at home—in Iraq, defus-ing bombs, he is in his element. Slavoj Žižek points out the ideological import of the script’s choice of the EOD profession:

This choice is deeply symptomatic: Although soldiers, they do not kill, but daily risk their lives dismantling terrorist bombs that are destined to kill civilians. Can there be anything more sympathetic to our liberal sensibilities? Are our armies in the ongoing War on Terror (aka The Long War), even when they bomb and destroy, ultimately not just like EOD squads, patiently dismantling terrorist networks in order to make the lives of civilians safer? 17

James’s job makes him a “good” soldier doing “good” work. It obscures the fact of Iraq as a war of choice and the truth that the invasion turned out anything but a cakewalk. James’s job is to protect, not destroy or kill, and that aspect to his character occludes the disturbing

Stop- Loss (2008) stars Joseph Gordon- Levitt as Tommy Burgess, an ill- fated Iraq war veteran. Ryan Phillippe plays Brandon King, a returning veteran arbitrarily ordered back to fi eld duty.

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truths of the occupation. At the same time, real soldiers who saw the fi lm objected to James’s daredevil behavior. Said one, “Films, almost more than anything, will be the way Americans understand our war. For Hollywood to glorify this crap is a huge slap in the face to every soldier who’s been on the front line.” 18

Bigelow cited her efforts to create a non- Hollywood “look” as an act of respect toward the military. She meant visual style to distinguish The Hurt Locker from other war fi lms and to force the audience’s sympathies. “You want to make it as real and as authentic as possible, to put the audience into the Humvee, into a boots- on- the- ground experience . . . let the rawness and integrity of the subject be as pronounced as possible.” 19 Most fi lm critics praised her work for that “rawness” and Bigelow broke the “gold ceiling” by becoming the fi rst woman to win the Oscar for Best Director.

Critics like Žižek, however, ripped back the veil of Bigelow’s “authentic” aesthetic to demystify what the fi lm tried to gloss: “In its very invisibility, ideology is here, more than ever: We are there, with our boys, identifying with their fears and anguishes instead of questioning what they are doing at war in the fi rst place.” 20 Guy Westwell also criticized Bigelow’s trademark, bewildering point- of- view camerawork that often leaves the viewer unanchored from any particular character or organizing intelligence. When the camera then reattaches to the perspective of a main character like James, the viewer is even more deeply connected to his bomb squad’s point of view. It is one marked by paranoia and a constant sense of being under unseen, threatening surveillance. To Westwell, this tactic effectively reverses the power relations in Iraq to create the impression that it is the Americans who are “imperiled, powerless, and victimized, in contrast to the realities of the balance of power between an insurgency and the world’s most powerful army.” 21 In these respects, the “pro- soldier” strand of twenty- fi rst- century war fi lms minimizes the trauma and damage infl icted on the Iraqis by the invading force.

Not only are Iraqis peripheral to these narratives, they are viewed on screen only from the perspective of the American soldier. From this view, all Iraqis are like human improvised explosive devices, their meaning limited to the danger they pose to the soldiers. The fi lms seldom see them on their own terms as innocent victims of the occupying force. In The Hurt Locker , when James puts on the EOD bomb suit, his muted perception of Baghdad’s streets and the fi shbowl effect of his bubbled helmet underscore the fi lm’s narrow, nearly claus-trophobic scope. In a heart- pounding chase through a labyrinthine set of buildings early in Stop- Loss , the Iraqis matter only as they endanger “our troops” and jeopardize King’s com-mand. With the damage done, the setting switches to Texas. Iraq, its people, and its violent suffering are left far behind, to surface again only implicitly in the wounded bodies and fractured psyches of Stop- Loss ’s “these guys.”

By showcasing “the integrity of the subject” with “great compassion,” the “pro- soldier” fi lms intentionally champion the home team and obscure the international toll the war has taken. Helpless Iraqi victims and their scarred geographic and social landscapes remain remote backdrops to the soldiers’ dramas. In this way these would- be politically neutral fi lms let American viewers off the hook for anything but sympathy for their own—and even that at arm’s length, given the narrow band of the population (white, male, working- class) most often featured as soldiers.

A more overtly political war fi lm opened in 2010. Directed by United 93 ’s Paul Green-grass and starring Matt Damon, Green Zone took on the issue of Iraq’s WMD, the most compelling justifi cation for the U.S.- led invasion. Damon plays Chief Warrant Offi cer Roy

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Miller, in charge of locating Hussein’s WMD, their existence certifi ed by the Pentagon and U.S. intelligence offi cer Clark Poundstone. Once Miller begins to suspect he has been sent on a wild goose chase, he goes rogue in order to piece together the fabricated evidence for war. A fearless Iraqi translator, an intrepid female journalist, and a CIA offi cer harboring suspicions of his own assist him. The emerging truth resembles what actually happened: like the American people, Miller’s been had. The fi lm’s political message is that Iraq’s WMD stockpile was not only elusive but a wholesale fi ction dreamed up by the Bush administra-tion, led by its neoconservative members. What is more, the United States fatally erred when it fi red the Iraqi army and left its soldiers at loose ends, armed and alienated. Early blunders like these ensured that the promised cakewalk would turn into an unending, gruesome slog to no clear benefi t and devastating loss.

Obvious political content intentionally delivered within the thrills of an action movie earned Green Zone $35 million. That amount was twice the profi t of The Hurt Locker and many times more than that of any of the 2007 war movies. Still, it accounted for only a frac-tion of another Greengrass– Damon fi lm: the action- thriller The Bourne Supremacy (2007) grossed over $227 million.

The overtly political fi lm Fair Game (2010) also dramatized the actual circumstances surrounding the Bush administration’s casus belli. A key piece of Secretary Powell’s case before the United Nations involved a report that Niger had sold uranium to Iraq for use in developing nuclear weapons. CIA operative Valerie Plame volunteered her husband Joseph Wilson, the former ambassador to Niger, to travel there to check out the facts. When he reported that no evidence of the uranium sale existed, his fi ndings were ignored. Worse, the United States cited the nonexistent sale in its case for war. Wilson published an account of his fact- fi nding mission. To discredit him, the offi ce of the head cheerleader for war, Vice President Cheney, leaked the fact that Wilson’s wife, Plame, was a CIA agent. Using the real names of these real political players, Fair Game makes this political argument: fully aware that Saddam Hussein had no WMD, the White House continued to claim the contrary so that war with Iraq would seem both “inevitable and justifi ed.” Featuring the outspoken Sean Penn as an outraged Wilson and Naomi Watts as smooth professional Plame, the fi lm also claims that by outing Plame’s covert status, the vice president’s smear campaign was respon-sible for the deaths of some seventy people working in her complex Middle Eastern web of contacts and informants. The fi lm’s “just the facts” style strengthens its message that the very people the government should be able to rely upon to provide trustworthy intelligence were grievously betrayed for political, and the fi lm argues treasonous, reasons. Retreading a story well aired in the news and splashed across the pages of Vanity Fair , Fair Game did not sell a lot of tickets.

In 2012, a presidential election year and not coincidentally “the year of the political fi lm,” Zero Dark Thirty , Kathryn Bigelow’s follow- up to The Hurt Locker , opened. 22 Weaving together the “atrocious war” and “pro- soldier” war movie strands, Zero Dark Thirty drew on factual accounts of the hunt for and killing of the man called “the most infamous terrorist in our lifetime” and “the number one celebrity of evil,” Osama bin Laden. 23 Topping the box offi ce on its opening weekend, Zero Dark Thirty inspired both vigorous political debate over its depiction of torture as an integral part of the mission’s success and partisan bickering over fi lmmakers’ access to offi cials in the Obama White House, the CIA, and the Pentagon. Initially set for an October release, the fi lm incited Republican complaints that it was no

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more than a reelection ad for President Obama. In addition to arranging a meeting between the fi lm’s screenwriter, Mark Boal, and the real- life operatives most responsible for the mis-sion’s success, the CIA also provided Boal a tour of the vault where the raid was planned. The agency even shared with him a mockup of the Abbottabad compound where bin Laden was killed. The release date moved to Christmas.

In a rare case of the effects of Hollywood movies reaching the level of open political dis-pute, three longtime U.S. senators issued a letter to the fi lm’s studio, Sony Pictures:

Zero Dark Thirty is factually inaccurate, and we believe that you have an obligation to state that the role of torture in the hunt for Usama Bin Laden is not based on the facts, but rather part of the fi lm’s fi ctional narrative. Regardless of what message the fi lmmakers intended to convey, the movie clearly implies that the CIA’s coercive interrogation techniques were effective in eliciting important information related to a courier for Usama Bin Laden. We have reviewed CIA records and know that this is incorrect. We are fans of many of your movies, and we understand the special role that movies play in our lives, but the funda-mental problem is that people who see Zero Dark Thirty will believe that the events it portrays are facts. The fi lm therefore has the potential to shape American public opinion in a disturbing and misleading manner. 24

Like the soldier protesting The Hurt Locker ’s power to infl uence Americans’ view of how the military does its job, the senators feared a susceptible public would believe the movie’s propagandizing on behalf of the effi caciousness of torture. They make no mention, how-ever, of the political context priming Americans to take the fi lm for truth. For years prior to the fi lm’s release, the Bush administration endorsed “enhanced interrogation techniques,” even as President Bush publicly stated, “This government does not torture people.” Ignoring actual policy and political discourse, the senators instead fi ngered the fi lm for blame. Their letter also did not take issue with the fi lm’s depiction of CIA agents engaged in torture, only that it implies such methods produce actionable results.

A U.S. Senate intelligence committee also investigated whether the degree of access the fi lmmakers enjoyed was appropriate. Once the fi lm got shut out on Oscar night, however, the investigation quietly ended. At the same time as Bigelow and Boal fended off accusa-tions of a too- cozy relationship with the CIA, they denied that their fi lm supported torture. Declaimed Bigelow, “Depiction is not endorsement, and if it was, no artist could ever por-tray inhumane practices. The point was to immerse the audience in this landscape, not to pretend to debate policy.” 25 Žižek would have none of it: “Without a shadow of a doubt, she is on the side of the normalization of torture.” 26 In this sentiment, the Lacanian- Marxist philosopher found an unlikely ally in Senator John McCain, one of the letter’s authors, a staunchly Republican former Vietnam POW and torture victim, and a leading political voice against torture.

The soldier’s point of view anchoring Zero Dark Thirty belongs to Maya, a CIA operative obsessed with the calling to fi nd Osama bin Laden. Before focusing on Maya’s perspective, the fi lm opens on a sustained shot of a darkened screen; only the jarring audio of desperate phone calls from people facing their doom on 9/11 can be heard. A harrowing waterboard-ing scene follows. (Maya was scripted to participate in the waterboarding, but after CIA objections, the fi lm shows her only observing.) Thus the fi lm begins on a cause- and- effect,

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retributive or “just war” note—the 9/11 attacks justify, even call for , the use of torture. It then displaces that sentiment onto the fi gure of Maya, the very embodiment of vengeance as holy justice. Witness to another CIA operative getting blown to bits in a brazen attack, Maya says with Messianic certainty, “I believe I was spared so I could fi nish the job.” After bin Laden is killed, she weeps.

Propaganda Redux

Made fully a decade after the launching of the wars against Iraq and Afghanistan, Lone Survi-vor (2013) brought the Hollywood war movie back to its propaganda roots. A vocal proponent of the military, director Peter Berg achieved surprise blockbuster success—$124 million and counting—with this true story of a 2005 Taliban assassination mission in Afghanistan gone grievously wrong. The fi lm stars Mark Wahlberg as Navy SEAL Marcus Luttrell, author of the memoir with the same name. Lone Survivor belongs fi rmly to the World War II com-bat fi lm tradition of sweethearts left behind, manly teasing, unquestioned brothers- in- arms solidarity, and a nostalgically defi ned “us versus them” mentality. Discovered mid- mission by goat herders, four SEALs must decide whether to abide by the rules of engagement that forbid killing unarmed civilians or do what the fi lm suggests is the sensible thing and kill them. Their decision is forecast in the fi lm’s title, a foregone conclusion that has not deterred audiences.

The most fi nancially successful twenty- fi rst century war movie by far, Lone Survivor got love at the box offi ce but hate from some critics. Its critical reception links Lone Survivor ’s cartoonish depiction of the Taliban enemy and its attempt to scrub itself clean of politics to pro- war propaganda: “It’s about a politically charged situation but has almost no political point of view” ( Los Angeles Times ); “A pro- war propaganda surprise hit—Mark Wahlberg kills Taliban by the dozens in Hollywood’s fi rst 2014 smash, a shameless war- porn spectacle” (Salon.com); “Crude propaganda” ( Vulture ); “ Lone Survivor ’s Takeaway: Every War Movie Is a Pro- War Movie” ( The Atlantic ). One critic locates the fi lm’s propaganda in the Navy SEALs’ boot camp scene at the fi lm’s start: “It plays out like an advertisement for the Marine Corps—an affectionate endorsement from Hollywood of the SEALs’ peerless brawn . . . military indoctrination geared toward the young and the impressionable.” 27 Another critic noted that it was the fi rst war movie of the “war on terror” era to hook a mainstream audi-ence and that the fi lmmakers, “because they’re not total idiots,” intentionally avoided any ideological message about the Bush administration or the Afghan war. Berg wanted to give audiences a chance, in his words, to “express their patriotism in a way that doesn’t feel political,” leaving the reviewer to remind readers, “to pretend that a movie has no politics is in itself an ideological position, and never more so than in this jingoistic, pornographic work of war propaganda.” 28 As propaganda, it never questions war or assassination missions or even whether personnel and resources diverted to Iraq might have made the difference for the SEALs.

Like “pro- soldier” movies, Lone Survivor never takes its eyes off the home team, never broadens its allegiances or its context. Audiences responded to the rah- rah message exactly as propaganda intends. Though U.S. troops remain in Afghanistan, the cultural zeitgeist has long since decided the war is over. All that remains is the recuperation of it in the popular imagination as a “good war.” In pure political content and intent, Lone Survivor contributes mightily to that effort.

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Acting Political: The Case of Ben Affl eck

To build support for House Speaker John Boehner on the 2011 debt ceiling debate, House majority whip Kevin McCarthy played a fi lm clip to rally his troops. What made this inci-dent newsworthy was the head- scratching choice of fi lm. No Ronald Reagan “win just one for the Gipper” speech from Knute Rockne (1940). No St. Crispin’s Day oratory from Ken-neth Branagh’s Henry V (1989). Instead, the whip played a scene from The Town (2010) in which director and star Ben Affl eck plays a bank robber named Doug, who implores his childhood friend Jim (Jeremy Renner), “I need your help. I can’t tell you what it is. You can never ask me about it later. And we’re going to hurt some people.” Without missing a beat, bank- robbing thug Jim replies, “Whose car are we gonna take?” Cut to the brothers- in- crime donning hockey masks to beat a man senseless, then shoot him when he professes not to know what he did to get Doug, in Jim’s words, “so cranked up.”

The pep rally worked. When the clip ended, Florida representative, vociferous Tea Par-tier, and former army offi cer Allen West jumped to his feet to declare, “I’m ready to drive the car.” 29 Jon Stewart on The Daily Show quipped, “Quick, Robin, to the Bat- shit mobile!” before asserting that the Republicans answering the call to “drive the car” must not have seen the whole movie since in the end Doug abandons a dying Jim. The Town is not an overtly political fi lm and, as Stewart’s commentary suggests, was not meant to inspire politi-cal action or to propagandize on behalf of a partisan cause. That McCarthy used it with evident success speaks to the infl uence of Hollywood fi lms to affect human behavior and political beliefs through their melodramatic mode of address. This defi nitive style is evi-dent here in the low- angle, single shot of Doug as he addresses an off- screen Jim, his face slightly askance to the camera. Actor blocking and fi lm framing create the momentary sense that Doug speaks to “us,” the audience, requesting our complicity through violence and our loyalty to a secret we promise both to keep and not to know.

This theory of the viewer as a willing, fervent, but uninformed or willfully clueless conspirator bears comparison to the uneasy compact Americans made with the federal gov-ernment in the wake of 9/11 and the passage of the Patriot Act, a policy that both deprives Americans of long- held basic rights and keeps them in the dark about what government

This shot of Ben Affl eck as bank robber Doug in The Town (2010) exemplifi es a melodramatic mode of address.

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does by virtue of their abdication of those rights. Looking back at the 1980s, Michael Rogin defi ned this kind of political phenomenon with the paradoxical phrase, “covert spectacle.” The concept of the covert spectacle reveals how citizens’ participation in political life and access to political knowledge resemble a moviegoer’s relation to characters and action on screen, a combination of pleasurable voyeurism and privileged complicity. In the covert spectacle orchestrated by government secrecy, and contrary to an informed active citizenry, “Spectators gain vicarious participation in a narrative that, in the name of national security, justifi es their exclusion from information and decision- making.” 30 Limited, spectator- like participation in the political sphere precipitates ingenuous, emotional attachment to government- scripted narratives—and to their featured players.

The stories and imagery generated by the government around soldiers Jessica Lynch in Iraq and Pat Tillman in Afghanistan exemplifi ed covert spectacle. In an elaborate campaign of lies based on exaggeration and myth, Lynch’s harrowing captivity by the enemy and Till-man’s death by friendly fi re were transformed into vignettes lifted from an action- packed superhero franchise fi lm. Looking at the deplorable facts of each case, the military called for “rewrite!” In place of the actual miscommunication, poorly equipped vehicles, and tactical disaster that befell each soldier, we got heroics of big- screen proportions. Thus a mislead-ing script for war, replete with fi ctional blockbuster characters, replicated the clip from The Town to demand of a susceptible American public its acceptance of violence and pledge of loyalty to a secret it must promise both to keep and not to know: why the United States invaded Iraq. In fact, much about the politics of launching the Iraq invasion fi ts Rogin’s paradigm, where orchestrated displays of both diplomatic effort—Colin Powell’s speech to the UN where he brandished a model vial of anthrax—and militaristic might—the tearing down of Saddam Hussein’s statue in Iraq—obscured in plain sight the full exercise of power belying the administration’s paradox of open intent and secret motivation. As Rogin has it, “Covert spectacle . . . aims to control not simply political power but knowledge.” 31

The Town ’s power of persuasion over the likes of Congressman West suggested in an ironic way the inherently political import fi lms bear culturally even when they do not address overtly political themes, disrupt political culture, or feature political stories and players. The use of The Town to inspire fundamentally political action on behalf of the Republican Party is ironic also for Affl eck’s own political sympathies. Describing the situation as bizarre, Affl eck said, “I don’t know if this is a compliment or the ultimate repudiation. But if they’re going to be watching movies, I think The Company Men is more appropriate.” 32

The Company Men (2010) concerns the plight of three middle- aged men laid off during the “Great Recession” that began with the collapse of fi nancial markets in 2008. Depressed about his unemployment and subsequent loss of self- worth, one character commits suicide. His death underscores the sacrifi ce of the American job market to corporate profi ts unevenly distributed among shareholders, CEOs, and workers. The suicide’s grim weight upon the fi lm also contrasts with the sensationalized criminality, violence, and murder that underpin The Town . The Company Men invokes the widespread suffering infl icted on the very Ameri-can public that Speaker Boehner’s hyped debt debate ignored most. Says one “company man,” “My life ended and nobody noticed.” This Affl eck fl ick critiques the invisibility of the recession’s victims and their absence from the American citizenry’s spectatorial relationship to government economic discourse. As the Bush administration transitioned to the Obama administration, Washington political theater yanked the big top’s tent- stakes from foreign policy and pitched it over the economic arena. When an ordinary life ends as a sideshow

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off screen from the spectacle that the political class has staged about the horrors of national debt and the apocalyptic need for big bank bailouts, what chance has any citizen to “notice”? The Company Men criticizes status quo politics that ignores high unemployment fi gures and lets workers slip through the holes of a badly fractured economy and frayed social safety net. Depressing yet timely, The Company Men predictably failed at the box offi ce, grossing a small fraction of The Town ’s profi ts.

Two other Affl eck fi lms, State of Play and Argo , represent typologically purer political fi lms. State of Play (2008) features Russell Crowe as Cal, a rumpled but tireless political reporter, and Affl eck is Cal’s college pal, Stephen Collins, a suave but apparently sincere politician with a secret. Collins is investigating the dark dealings of a mysterious private security contractor reaping big profi ts from the wars. When his lead researcher, with whom he’s had an affair, is killed, news reports say Collins is a suspect, but Cal is torn by profes-sional and personal imperatives. Directed by Kevin MacDonald, State of Play resembles All the President’s Men . Once again brightly lit newspaper offi ces stand for the search for truth, and once more suspenseful action unfolds in dark underground structures where political intrigue meets criminal activity. (In place of Jason Robards’s portrayal of Post editor Ben Bradlee, Helen Mirren does a Tina Brown turn in bobbed blonde hair as editor Cameron Lynne.) Dinosaur Cal works the news beat on an ancient computer and bickers with young Della, an ambitious gossip blogger eager for a more substantial beat. The only old- fashioned thing about her is her name—she does not own a pen! Together old and new news solve the mystery, but by that point the fi lm has ditched the vexed topic of military privatization for the melodrama of triangulated sexual desire. An absorbing look at the hidden costs of out-sourcing war to contractors splinters into clichés and confusion, illustrating the diffi culty of even political thrillers to sustain political critique when the object of that analysis is part of the covert spectacle of national defense policy.

Nostalgia of a different kind animates Argo (2012), directed by and starring Affl eck and winner of the Best Picture Oscar. During the 1979 overthrow of the shah of Iran, armed revo-lutionaries stormed the American embassy in Tehran and took hostages. This fi lm tracks the six Americans lucky enough to escape and take refuge in the home of the Canadian ambas-sador. They know it is only a matter of time before they are discovered. Argo takes its name from a phony movie concocted as a cover to get CIA operative Tony Mendez (Affl eck) inside Iran. An expert at “exfi ltration,” Mendez poses as a Canadian movie producer and outfi ts the six as his crew. To establish their cover, they scout locations for the fake movie “Argo” in Tehran, and eventually this ruse allows them to take their seats on an airplane home.

In a twist on typical Hollywood coding, 1970s and early 1980s fashions are not played for jokes and Argo ’s CIA agent is the good, if also ethnically vague, guy. In a twist on a histori-cally dark time, America unexpectedly fi nds a ray of light in the rescue of the six, a view both nostalgic and revisionist at the same time. In other ways, however, the ideology remains the same: Mendez achieves hero status only by bucking the incompetent, uncaring gov-ernment institution that would shut down his rescue operation. This exchange captures the dynamic: when Mendez says, “We’re responsible for these people,” his supervisor replies, “What we are is required to follow orders.”

If State of Play was a nod to All the President’s Men , in the rule- bending fi gure of Mendez Argo tips its hat to a different Redford anti- institutional vehicle of the 1970s, Three Days of the Condor . As one cultural observer sees it, in the post- bin- Laden era the pop culture fi xture of the rogue CIA agent is less likely to incriminate the agency than to humanize it.

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In part, this shift refl ects the agency’s decision at the start of the twenty- fi rst century to start consulting on fi lms because it was fed up with being depicted as a “nefarious organization” lacking a moral compass and consisting of rogue operatives. 33 Of course Hollywood, too, looks “good” in Argo —movie pros played by John Goodman and Alan Arkin dream up “Argo,” the movie- within- the- movie, all the way down to a mock production history and fake advertising campaign, the better to provide convincing cover and establish Mendez’s movie producer credibility.

At the same time, Iranians play their familiar screen villain’s part, with virtually none of them emerging as anything but inherently violent, irrational, and hysterically Other. Yet one scholar noticed that it is the fake movie’s storyline and its resemblance to the actual Iranian Revolution that sets the six free. When one of the refugee embassy staff members tells the story of “Argo” in Farsi to one of the questioning Iranian Revolutionary Guards holding them up at the airport, it is the utopian story of the Revolution not as Argo the movie presents it—“confusing crypto- fascistic ethnic- theological revolt”—but as “Argo” the fake script does. After listening to the fable of “nobodies who rise up in a galaxy far, far away to throw down an oppressive order,” the guard lets them on the plane. 34 Despite itself, then, the fi lm ultimately takes the side of revolution at a time when the United States itself was con-vulsing with demonstrations—the Occupy Wall Street movement, various college protest movements, and the symbolic rupture of erstwhile racial order by the presidency of Barack Hussein Obama.

Political Biopics

Political biographies surged in the twenty- fi rst century, including Bobby (2006), about the political life and assassination of Robert F. Kennedy. Written and directed by Emilio Este-vez, Bobby departs from biopic convention with a large ensemble cast of well- known actors, including Estevez, and a compressed plot containing multiple storylines that unfold over a single day and in one place: June 6, 1968, in the Los Angeles Ambassador Hotel, the time and location of Kennedy’s murder. In postmodern remediating fashion, the fi lm incorporates the historical Kennedy through archival footage. The effect makes him present in his own biopic. This aesthetic technique bends time to the contemporary longing for the political vision and ethical certitude of RFK compared to the morally murky politics of the day—that is, the wartime “enhanced interrogation techniques” and increased tax cuts for the wealthy offered by the Bush administration. Bobby ’s speeches lament the nation’s involvement in Vietnam as proxy for Iraq and cite growing threats to the environment as proxy for global climate change. Bobby – the- movie and Bobby- the- virtual- cast- member together resurrect the political message that Kennedy embodied: help for the poor, healing between racial groups, and “love,” a rhetorical fi xture in his political lexicon. Including stories of the hotel staff and guests builds viewer investment in the common people whose cause RFK championed.

Steven Soderbergh directed the two- part biopic of Cuban revolutionary Che Guevera, titled Che (2008). The fi lm covers the time from his 1955 meeting with Fidel Castro to the 1959 overthrow of Cuba’s dictator, Fulgencio Batista. It is interspersed with black- and- white scenes of Che’s 1964 visit to New York when he was interviewed by a journalist and addressed the United Nations. While Bobby used archival footage to retrieve a vision of Kennedy warehoused in news shows and documentaries of the 1960s, Soderbergh creates a constant sense of verisimilitude with Benicio Del Toro in the title role. That visual style

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persists through Che: Part Two , picking up seven years after the end of Che: Part One . Part Two focuses on the year a doomed Che spent in Bolivia, where he was captured and executed with an assist from the CIA. Even with Che’s historical cult status—his likeness graces T- shirts, dorm rooms, building walls in Cuba, even vodka bottles—the fi lm had no wide release or breakthrough at the box offi ce.

A more traditional biopic, Milk (2008) follows the fi rst openly gay elected offi cial in San Francisco, Harvey Milk. His personal journey from New York to the West Coast, from the closet to running for city offi ce as an openly gay man, takes on the weight of a social move-ment. Drawing on archival footage and a personal statement Milk recorded late in his life, Gus Van Zant’s moving tribute to the man and his times culminates in Milk’s assassination by Dan White, a political conservative. The two clash as the fi lm charts Milk’s growing political effectiveness and White’s increasingly unhinged response to personal pressures and Milk’s ascendance. The fi lm’s fi nal arc traces the 1978 fi ght against a statewide initiative to bar gays from public school jobs. Sean Penn won a Best Actor Oscar in the lead role, a Hollywood tradition of honoring straight, normative actors for playing the Other. The fi lm did brisk business at the box offi ce, a sign of the times of broader support for the gay rights movement and the legalization of gay marriage in bellwether states like Iowa.

Frost/Nixon (2008) took another fork in the biopic road by focusing solely on the produc-tion in 1977 of David Frost’s famous, wide- ranging yet combative interviews with Richard Nixon after he had resigned from offi ce and was looking to rehabilitate his image, save his political legacy, and make over half a million dollars for agreeing to do the show. Directed by Ron Howard and starring Frank Langella as Nixon and Martin Sheen as Frost, the fi lm succeeded in generating dramatic tension around what might have been inert material. Sheen’s jet- setting, womanizing Frost looks like easy prey for the cunning Nixon, intent on running the show. The story unwinds to a classic reversal as Frost gives Nixon more than he bargained for in both wit and psychological stamina. It is Frost who gets Nixon to utter the famous, damning line, “I’m saying that when the president does it, it’s not illegal!” In a moment drenched in self- pity yet laced with self- knowledge, Nixon confesses:

I let them down. I let down my friends, I let down my country, and worst of all I let down our system of government, and the dreams of all those young people that ought to get into government but now they think, “Oh it’s all too corrupt and the rest.” Yeah . . . I let the American people down. And I’m going to have to carry that burden with me for the rest of my life. My political life is over.

These lines explain not only the attitude of “all those young people” toward government but also an entire generation of political movies defi ned by cynicism and paranoia.

Steven Spielberg’s long- awaited portrait of a different religiously minded president, Lincoln (2012) drew record crowds and restored belief in the idea that Hollywood could make “serious” political fi lms and audiences would respond. Although Spielberg has spoken of how diffi cult it was to get funding for the project and admitted that he even contemplated making it for television, the fi lm was a critical triumph and box offi ce hit. What makes the fi lm its own brand of political biopic, however, is not so much its commercial appeal as its dramatic re- creation of the legislative process. While it covers the growing hostility toward the president in the waning days of war and ends with his assassination, most of the drama unfolds around Lincoln’s efforts to pass landmark legislation—the constitutional amendment

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to forever ban slavery in the United States. Daniel Day Lewis won the Best Actor Oscar for his vulnerably bodied, storytelling Lincoln. The fi lm was nominated for Best Picture though it lost to the overtly political Argo .

Starring George W. Bush

Within the subset of twenty- fi rst- century political biopics fall three fi lms variously based on the persona of George W. Bush, the dominant American political fi gure of the new century’s fi rst decade. They illustrate the different ways popular fi lm has responded to the chaos of the new millennium and the role Bush played in defi ning a decade of tumult.

Weeks after Bush’s departure from the White House, Oliver Stone released W. (2008), his third presidential biographic fi lm following JFK (1991) and Nixon (1995). Featuring a lauded performance by Josh Brolin as George W. Bush, the fi lm addresses key events and sociopolitical confl icts of its time period. In its perceived sympathy for a very unpopular president, however, the fi lm does not as closely refl ect the mood of its times. Stone pointedly depicts Vice President Cheney attempting to direct Bush’s presidency on profound matters like torture—legislation and memos that Bush resists signing without even reading. Eventu-ally and regrettably, however, Bush joins with the Cheney faction in the push to invade Iraq. It is downhill from there. Stone portrays Bush’s need to prove himself to his father, George H.W. Bush, as a personal and family tragedy. He closes the fi lm with a fantasy image of the former baseball team owner, W., alone in a stadium racing to make a game- saving catch, a look of perplexity shadowing his familiar squinted expression.

W. was less controversial than Stone’s earlier biopic, JFK , and much less controversial than the second of the movie- cluster to suggest the fi lmic transcoding and the decade’s anxi-ety and pessimism during Bush’s tenure. The British television fi lm Death of a President

Lincoln (2012) dramatizes the president’s push to fi nish the Civil War and to end slavery through constitutional amendment before the Southern states rejoin the Union and block its passage. Director Steven Spielberg casts Lincoln in the golden glow of an eternal fl ame delivering his second inaugural address: “With malice toward none and charity for all . . . let us strive on to fi nish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds.”

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(2006) used cunning CGI effects to imagine the assassination of George W. Bush in an eerily realistic fashion. A sniper takes out the president in Chicago as he heads to his motorcade after making a speech and working a rope- line. The secret service rushes him to the hospital much as in the actual 1981 attempted assassination of President Reagan. The investigation immediately centers on a Syrian- born gunman as a shocked nation confronts the war on ter-ror in the post- Bush era. The head of the British television channel to air the fi lm defended its premise, saying that the shooting occurs only ten minutes into the ninety- minute fi lm and is only glimpsed rather than taking place in a “gratuitously lengthy gazing kind of scene”—it is a very small drop in the bucket of exploitative violence compared to the blood and death recorded daily in the news from Iraq. 35 The Bush White House refused to comment on the fi lm, saying it did not merit a response, and London critics scoffed at arguments that the movie was serious fi lmmaking. They labeled it hype and not a serious study of the darkly uncertain times. Promotional photos of the fi lm fi lled British papers showing a mortally wounded Bush dying in a Secret Service agent’s arms, courting further controversy espe-cially among those who thought the photos were real.

The third fi lm in the George W. Bush-relevant trio is the most loosely linked to the historical fi gure and the most obvious example of how genre fi lms often invite political interpretation. An independently produced, low- budget horror fi lm, Frailty (2002) trans-lates in broad strokes an aspect vital to the Bush presidency that later studies would come to examine closely: his born- again Christianity and sense of himself as called by God to steer the ship of state through the riotous waters of the post 9/11 world, to direct a “war on terror” against what he dubbed “evildoers.” For example, Bush has explained, “I feel like God wants me to run for President. I can’t explain it, but I sense my country is going to need me.” 36 This is a very personal sense of a heavenly mandate that, although in service to the country, is directed, according to Bush, at him alone. While Stone’s W. is very much a prod-uct of his family dynamics, Bob Woodward’s book Plan of Attack recounts the way Bush perceived 9/11 to have strengthened that divine calling. Asked whether he has consulted his father about his plans for war in Iraq, Bush responds, “You know he is the wrong father to appeal to in terms of strength. There is a higher power I appeal to.” 37

Frailty operates in a similar Manichean realm of good and evil, father and son intensity, and murderous acts inspired by religious conviction. It even deploys the same rhetoric of good and evil, divine and mortal. Director and star Bill Paxton plays Dad Melks, a Texan widower and father of two boys, who in his divine calling is visited by an angel instructing him to destroy demons disguised as humans. He enlists his sons as collaborators in a series of gruesome ax murders carried out as a holy crusade. Although the older boy knows his father has gone mad, the younger one believes him; his naive desire to stay at one with his murderous parent lends him a modicum of humanity. Told in fl ashback years later by one of the sons to a federal agent, the fi lm stays true to its genre and provides a plot twist to upend all that viewers have come to believe about the story. While clearly not a straight-forward portrayal of George W. Bush and his religious beliefs, the fi lm can be interpreted as transcoding the president’s Manichean moral certainty and avowed religious guidance regarding the decisions to launch two foreign wars and a more vaguely defi ned war on terror as part of a crusade against evildoers.

From the beginning of Bush’s candidacy for president, he strongly identifi ed as a reli-gious person, the perfect candidate for conservative Christians. That voting bloc stuck by

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Bush even by the disastrous end of his term in offi ce as he continuously reaffi rmed his status as a Christian. His pre- 9/11 stand on abortion and initiation of an offi ce to provide federal funds to religious programs were prelude to the rhetoric he would adopt once the Twin Towers fell. Beginning with his evocation of a “crusade” against an “axis of evil,” Bush spoke easily in biblical and apocalyptic language, saying, “This is a new kind of, a new kind of evil. And the American people are beginning to understand. This crusade, this war on terrorism, is going to take a while.” 38 His Texas cowboy persona invoked the language of a western—a genre that also traffi cs in a rigid ideology of good guys and bad guys. Having declared Osama bin Laden wanted dead or alive, Bush also famously said of the terrorists, “We’re smokin’ them out, we’ve got ’em on the run.” These aspects of Bush’s presidential persona link him to Frailty ’s Dad Melks and the fi lm’s tightly constructed story with a confi ned, at times fantastical, mise- en- scène that binds sons to father, father to sons, sons to each other in a confusion of patriarchal- fi lial duty and a conception of masculinity gone to psychotic extremes in the absence of both a maternal counterweight and a secular epistemology.

Sociopolitical Biopics

Not a typologically authentic political biopic but high in political intent, Dallas Buyers Club (2013) offers a scathing critique of the Federal Drug Administration. It dramatizes the real- life personal, medical, and legal battles fought by Ron Woodroof, a hard- partying, bull- riding electrician diagnosed with AIDS in the mid- 1980s. Its politics addresses homo-phobia and medical research in the age of “big pharma” in the context of Woodroof’s fi ght to get the FDA to approve alternative drug protocols and treatment to ease the disease’s symptoms. Woodroof is played with fi erce energy by a diseased- skinny Matthew McCo-naughey in a part that won him a Best Actor Oscar. Woodroof snorts coke, slugs back whiskey like water, and is “addicted to pussy,” as a fellow redneck- homophobe says. When he receives his diagnosis, his world overturns in ways that force him to confront more than just the medical establishment’s slow- footed approach to the “gay” disease. When told the

In Dallas Buyers Club (2013), Matthew McConaughey plays real- life Ron Woodroof, battling “big pharma” and the FDA to seek alternative treatments for AIDS. His cowboy hat signifi es his “buck the system” independence as he meets with scientists overseas.

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FDA has not approved a drug yet, Woodroof responds, “Screw the FDA, I’m going to be DOA. Are you telling me I got to sue the hospital to get my medicine?” Told of a support group he can attend instead, Woodroof says, “I’m dying and you’re telling me to go get a hug from a bunch of faggots?” That the profane, largely unlikable Woodroof is such an unlikely candidate to crusade against the expense and actual danger of early AIDS drugs like AZT drives the fi lm. Woodroof researches medicines used in other countries but unap-proved by the FDA, an organization depicted as overly cozy with large pharmaceutical companies with their fi nancial stake in the success of dangerous drugs like AZT, a drug abandoned for cancer treatment when it proved more lethal than healing. He becomes a medical pioneer and patients’ rights hero by illegally bringing supplements and drugs like interferon to the United States to self- administer and sell to other sufferers, most of them gay men he learns to embrace.

The fi lm’s title refers to the way around the crime of selling treatments lacking FDA approval pioneered in the AIDS crisis: patients purchase subscriptions to the club and only as club members receive the drugs. The fi lm’s social climax occurs when Woodroof forces a gay- bashing former friend to shake hands with Rayon, Woodroof’s business partner, a transgender person with AIDS played with a supple spirit by Jared Leto. Its political climax occurs when a judge announces from the bench that people like Woodroof have the right to choose their body’s own remedy, but that is

interpreted as medical care that is approved by the FDA. Regarding the FDA, the court is highly disturbed by its bullying tactics. The FDA was formed to protect people, not prevent them from getting help. . . . What is lacking here is legal authority to intervene.

Though the court rules against him, Woodroof returns to his renegade company, the Dallas Buyers Club, and a hero’s welcome for his bravery simply in mounting the case. Though the convenience of setting up a straight white man as the crusading face of a health crisis that devastated gay and minority communities is hard to overlook, the fi lm’s success at the box offi ce and during awards season testifi es to the country’s growing acceptance of

Dallas Buyers Club (2013) earned McConaughey a Best Actor Oscar for his portrayal of a hard- partying Texan, straight white man as a pioneer for the right of patients to determine their own care.

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gay rights, a societal trend perhaps most powerfully evidenced by the number of states that have legalized gay marriage.

The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) centers on another real- life, hard- partying renegade with legal troubles: Jordan Balfort. Played with charm, smarm, and carpe diem gusto by Leo-nardo DeCaprio, Balfort is a fi nancially successful but morally bankrupt and highly corrupt stock trader. His life is synonymous with excess—sex, drugs, and conspicuous consump-tion of cars, houses, and clothes. One representative and symbolic image includes Jordan contemplating a naked woman taped with stacks of cash to smuggle overseas on his behalf. Every American materialist impulse gets full consideration in the case of Balfort’s self- made success mastering “Wall Street,” code for “casino” in this fi lm’s view. From scenes of a half- naked marching band parading through his company’s penthouse offi ces to Balfort struggling to speak and drive in a drug- induced paralysis to his penchant for snorting coke during sex, acts of debauchery and hedonistic self- absorption fi ll nearly every frame. One of the year’s most successful fi lms, the Martin Scorsese- directed The Wolf of Wall Street courted con-troversy by appearing to romanticize the very kinds of risky fi nancial transactions, lack of effective legal oversight, and personal lifestyles that crashed the world’s economy in 2008. As one reviewer asked, “Does it offer a sustained and compelling diagnosis of the terminal pathology that affl icts us, or is it an especially fl orid symptom of the disease?” 39 Its success suggests the answer is both. As with fi lms like Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps (2010), Margin Call (2011), and Arbitrage (2012), the portrayal of greed rewarded by fi nancial suc-cess walks a fi ne line with greed condemned by poorly enforced laws and social scorn. As evidenced by Wall Street’s roaring comeback in 2010 after the postcrash big bank bailouts, political will matters for little when the rewards of risk and corruption are so high. 40

In 2010, President Barack Obama declared March 31 Cesar Chavez Day in honor of the Mexican- American labor rights leader whose slogan, “¡Sí se puede!” or “Yes, we can!” can-didate Obama borrowed in 2008. In spring 2014, the political biopic Cesar Chavez screened at Obama’s White House. Directed by Diego Luna, the fi lm won that year’s audience award at the increasingly infl uential South by Southwest festival in Austin, Texas. Chavez founded the United Farm Workers of America and was instrumental in winning better pay and working conditions for migrant grape pickers, a labor victory that led to other pro- worker legislation. In a jobless economic recovery, when the power of unions and the rights of laborers have reached a nadir, Luna intended the fi lm to achieve contemporary political effect, saying, “The struggle and fi ght of these people is still so much alive, and they deserve attention. Hopefully this fi lm can draw attention, not just to farm workers but to all of those workers that today are feeding this country, that are building this country.” 41 Recent renewed labor rights demonstrations have included strikes and boycotts against fast food restaurant chains. Movement to raise the federal minimum wage is also under way, with several states raising their minimum rate ahead of federal action.

With Michael Peña as Chavez and America Ferrera as his wife, Helen, Cesar Chavez also features John Malkovich as a grower in confl ict with Chavez and his expanding union power. The fi lm’s production company, Participant Media, has a history of involvement in politi-cally ambitious fi lms. These include Lincoln (2012); Charlie Wilson’s War (2007), about pre- 9/11 U.S. involvement in Afghanistan; The Help (2011), about relationships between black domestic workers and their white employers in the 1960s; the anti- fracking Promised Land (2012); and Snitch (2013), about drug traffi cking and unjust mandatory sentencing laws. With Cesar Chavez , the company’s portfolio expanded to tell a classic David versus

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Goliath, immigrant worker versus capitalist American story that appealed to Latinos, an increasingly powerful voting bloc and movie market. Hagiographic, the fi lm sparked debate about where Chavez would have sided on today’s knotty issue of immigration, a topic the fi lm itself avoids.

Political Climate Change

Apocalyptic threats were the hook for another post- 9/11 thriller, The Day After Tomorrow (2004). In this update of the 1970s disaster fi lm genre, global warming takes an unexpected and extreme turn for the worse. New York City is fl ooded and fl ash- frozen while tornadoes destroy Los Angeles. One scientist, Adrian Hall (Dennis Quaid), is aware of the coming debacle but unable to prevent it. Filmmaker Roland Emmerick, who also directed Indepen-dence Day (1996) and White House Down (2013), intended to critique the environmental policies of the Bush administration by including a president and vice president suspiciously reminiscent of George W. Bush and Richard Cheney. (Even after the tornadoes wipe out Los Angeles, the president refuses to change his mind about global warming!)

Although scientists largely discounted the way the fi lm portrays the threat of climate change, including the speed at which catastrophe strikes, Emmerick intended it as a caution-ary tale and claimed he was simply warning that these events could happen if behaviors do not change. While also criticized for its one- dimensional characters, the movie did spark political discussion. Critics of the science of climate change feared that the enormously pop-ular fi lm would add an irrational element to the environmental policy debate. Indeed, in its wake, other fi lms exploited fears surrounding continued disregard for the effects of carbon emissions and other pollutants. Emmerick returned to the genre with the fi nancial and criti-cal fl op 2012 (2009), about a geoscientist who discovers that the earth’s core is heating up and the fate of humanity hangs in the balance. In the dystopian fantasy Pacifi c Rim (2013), polluted oceans unleash attacking aliens called Kaiju, gigantic robotic creatures similar in appearance to the car- robots in the Transformers franchise. The expensive fl op After Earth

The Day After Tomorrow (2004) puts climate change on fast- forward as rising seas and a new ice age envelop the Statue of Liberty.

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(2013) takes place after humans have ruined their habitat and fl ed to a different planet; a military general and his son (played by real- life father and son Will and Jaden Smith) crash back to earth to face the frightening, at times beautiful life that has grown back. Paying lit-tle heed to the politics surrounding carbon emission and energy policies, these fi lms assume climate change as fact yet also serve as what Blair Miller calls “case studies for hegemony” by taking the potentially subversive topic of human contribution to climate change and trivi-alizing it, draining it of urgency, and convincing audiences nothing need be done. 42

A more earnest look at the environmental costs of continued dependence on fossil fuels, Promised Land (2012) features the left- leaning, politically engaged Matt Damon cast against type as a corporate salesman trying to convince an economically strapped town to sell his company drilling rights to its land. Directed by Gus Van Zant ( Milk , 2008) and written by co- stars Damon and John Krasinski, Promised Land succeeded critically by nuancing the face of corporate profi t in Damon’s character, Steve Butler. “I’m not a bad guy,” he says, and the fi lm agrees. He is part corporate predator and part proselytizer for “fracking,” a controver-sial process for extracting natural gas from shale that he claims will save rural America. The fi lm paints the debate in shades of gray through its characters but the double- twist ending clearly puts the fi lm on the side of the antifracking movement. Even with a proven director and popular stars, the fi lm fl opped.

Hollywood Gets Religion

Although few movies of the period explored traditional religious beliefs, Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ (2004) attracted more viewers than almost any of the political movies and more than three times as many as Fahrenheit 9/11 . The Passion focuses on the torture of Christ in the fi nal two hours of his life. Although it refl ects a distinctively traditional theological view of its subject matter, it does not pursue explicit political themes. It was intended to be a literal reenactment of the death of Jesus Christ, as told by the Bible. However, its immense popularity (along with the conservative ideology of its maker) seemed to signal a sociocultural statement.

The biggest specifi c controversy that arose with the fi lm’s release, however, was sparked by allegations that it blamed Jews for the death of Jesus. Although critics predicted a new out-break of anti- Semitism, little if any ethnic confl ict actually ensued. A different impact of the fi lm was the possibility that its box offi ce popularity might lead Hollywood to make other reli-giously themed movies in the hope of cashing in on The Passion ’s unexpected profi tability. Its success also provided fodder for conservative social and political critics, who saw affi rmation of their belief in the public’s desire for religious themes and traditional values in the movies.

HBO talk- show host, writer, and stand- up comic Bill Maher took up the challenge with Religulous (2008), his satiric investigation of world religions conducted, as he put it, in the name of bringing people to their senses. In this fi lm, released at the close of a presidency defi ned by religious sentiment and a biblical brand of self- righteousness, Maher’s skepti-cism played the role of cultural antidote. 43 Not until years later, however, did Hollywood fi nally bet again on the promise of audience appeal with two openly religiously themed fi ction fi lms, like Gibson’s. Son of God (2014) presented a traditional illustration of the life of Christ, from his storied humble birth, through his teachings and miracles, to his death by crucifi xion. In wide release, Son of God represented a breakthrough in Christian- themed movies, with so many church groups mobilizing turnout to support it that a conservative news headline read, “Churches Buying Tickets to ‘Son of God,’ Interest Level Akin to

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Summer Blockbuster.” 44 Directed by Darren Aronofsky ( Black Swan , 2010), Noah (2014) combined biblical storytelling with the current trend in apocalyptic fi lms. Although the fi lm enjoyed a strong opening at the box offi ce, trying to have it both ways may pose a problem; Michael Cieply identifi es

a sense among religious viewers that the movie, at its core, was appropriating the biblical account of the fl ood to preach about current concerns like overpopulation and environmen-tal abuse. That churchgoers should be leery of a progressive agenda wrapped in Scripture is perhaps understandable, given Hollywood’s recent treatment of religious characters, who are often hypocrites and villains, driving plot lines that make, at best, a token bow toward the virtues of a faith- based life. 45

The industry will be watching very closely how well Noah fares by combining apocalyptic spectacle with a treasured biblical story, particularly in these politically divisive times when civil rights and the right to practice religion are leading to legislation that seems to say the two are mutually exclusive in a democratic society. 46

Notes

1. Robert Altman, quoted in “Hollywood ‘Inspired U.S. Attacks,’” BBC News , October 17, 2001, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/1604151.stm.

2. Jean Baudrillard, The Spirit of Terrorism (Radical Thinkers) (New York: Verso, 2013), pp. 23–24. 3. Stephen Holden, “After Iraq, Struggling on the Homefront,” New York Times , http://www.

nytimes.com/2006/12/15/movies/15brav.html. 4. Duncan Campbell, “Eleven Short Films About 9/11,” The Guardian , www.theguardian.com/

fi lm/2002/dec/13/1artsfeatures. 5. Ibid. 6. Roger Ebert, United 93 , www.rogerebert.com/reviews/united- 93–2006. 7. See below for the use of this phrase in First Blood II: Rambo (1985). 8. Winston Wheeler Dixon, “Teaching Film After 9/11,” Cinema Journal 43, no. 2 (Winter 2004):

115–118. 9. Stephen Holden, “After Iraq, Struggling on the Home Front,” New York Times , http://www.

nytimes.com/2006/12/15/movies/15brav.html. 10. Hendrik Hertzberg, “Cakewalk,” Comments, The New Yorker , www.newyorker.com/archive/

2003/04/14/030414ta_talk_hertzberg. 11. A.O. Scott, “When a Single Story Has a Thousand Sides,” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/

2007/10/19/movies/19rend.html?_r=0. 12. Manohla Dargis, “Hearts and Minds: Senator Meets Reporter, Selling a New, Improved War,”

New York Times , www.nytimes.com/2007/11/09/movies/09lion.html. 13. Kimberly Peirce, quoted in Marie Fisher, Stop- Loss movie review, Journal of Feminist Family

Therapy 21, no. 2 (2009): 147. 14. Dallas Observer , www.dallasobserver.com/2008–03–27/fi lm/iraq- war- movie- stop- loss- does- it- s-

best- not- to- mention- the- war/full/. 15. “Director Reaches Out to Young on Iraq Issue,” News Service, Chicago Tribune News , http://

articles.chicagotribune.com/2008–03–27/news/0803270442_1_abbie- cornish- kimberly- peirce- channing- tatum.

16. Nick Dawson, “Time’s Up: Kathryn Bigelow’s The Hurt Locker ,” Filmmaker Magazine , http://fi lmmakermagazine.com/4686- times- up- kathryn- bigelows- the- hurt- locker- by- nick- dawson/#.UxDpkV53e8U.

17. Slavoj Žižek, “How Hollywood Hides the Horrors of War,” In These Times , www. countercurrents.org/zizek260410.htm.

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18. Christian Davenport, “Some Iraq, Afghanistan War Veterans Criticize Movie ‘Hurt Locker’ as Inaccurate,” Washington Post , www.washingtonpost.com/wp- dyn/content/article/2010/02/25/AR2010022506161.html.

19. Dawson, “Time’s Up.” 20. Žižek, “How Hollywood Hides the Horrors of War.” 21. Guy Westwell, “In Country: Mapping the Iraq War in Recent Hollywood Combat Movies,” in

Screens of Terror: Representations of War and Terrorism in Film and Television Since 9/11 , ed. Philip Hammond (Suffolk, UK: Abramis, 2011), p. 27.

22. Alex Martin, “12 Most Political Movies of 2012,” Mic.com , http://mic.com/articles/21052/12- most- political- movies- of- 2012.

23. Phil Bronstein, “The Man Who Killed Osama bin Laden Is Screwed,” Esquire , www.esquire.com/features/man- who- shot- osama- bin- laden- 0313.

24. Steven Zeitchik, “Senate Leaders Feinstein and McCain Condemn ‘Zero Dark Thirty,’” Los Angeles Times , http://articles.latimes.com/2012/dec/19/entertainment/la- et- mn- feinstein- mccain- condemn- zero- dark- thirty- 20121219.

25. Jordan Zakarin, “Kathryn Bigelow, Mark Boal Fire Back at Zero Dark Thirty Investigation and Torture Debate,” Hollywood Reporter , www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/zero- dark- thirty- torture- debate- 409646.

26. Slavoj Žižek, “ Zero Dark Thirty : Hollywood’s Gift to American Power,” The Guardian , www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2013/jan/25/zero- dark- thirty- normalises- torture- unjustifi able.

27. Calum Marsh, “Every War Movie Is a Pro- War Movie,” The Atlantic , www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2014/01/- em- lone- survivor- em- s- takeaway- every- war- movie- is- a- pro- war- movie/282812/.

28. Andrew O’Hehir, “ Lone Survivor : A Pro- War Propaganda Surprise Hit,” Salon.com, www.salon.com/2014/01/15/lone_survivor_a_pro_war_propaganda_surprise_hit/.

29. CNN Politics, Political Ticker , http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/2011/07/27/gop- use- of- ben- affl eck- movie- clip- riles- dems/.

30. Michael Rogin, “Make My Day! Spectacle as Amnesia in Imperial Politics,” Representations 29 (Winter 1990): 116.

31. Ibid. 32. CNN Politics, Political Ticker . 33. Laura Bennett, “‘Homeland,’ Argo, and the Changing Role of the Rogue C.I.A. Agent,” New Repub-

lic , www.newrepublic.com/article/109204/homeland- argo- and- changing- role- rogue- cia- agent. 34. Robert St. Clair, “The Bomb in (and the Right to) the City: Batman, Argo and Hollywood’s Revo-

lutionary Crowds,” International Journal of Žižek Studies 7, no. 3 (2013): 19. 35. Kevin Sullivan, “Bush Assassination Film Makes Waves Across the Pond,” Washington Post ,

www.washingtonpost.com/wpdyn/content/article/2006/09/01/AR2006090100858.html. 36. Paul Harris, “Bush Says God Chose Him to Lead His Nation,” The Guardian , www.theguardian.

com/world/2003/nov/02/usa.religion. 37. William Hamilton, “Bush Began to Plan War 3 Months After Attack,” Washington Post , www.

washingtonpost.com/wp- dyn/articles/A17347–2004Apr16.html. 38. George W. Bush White House Archives, http://georgewbush- whitehouse.archives.gov/news/

releases/2001/09/20010916–2.html. 39. A.O. Scott, “When Greed Was Good (and Fun),” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/2013/12/25/

movies/dicaprio- stars- in- scorseses- the- wolf- of- wall- street.html. 40. Michael J. Moore, “Wall Street Sees Record Revenue,” Bloomberg News , www.bloomberg.

com/news/2010–12–13/wall- street- sees- record- revenue- in- 09–10- recovery- from- government- bailout.html.

41. Diego Luna, quoted in Jordan Zakarin, “Diego Luna’s ‘Cesar Chavez’ Biopic to Screen at White House,” The Wrap , www.thewrap.com/diego- lunas- cesar- chavez- film- screen- white- house- exclusive/.

42. Blair Miller, “‘What You See Is Happening Right Now’: Thermageddon and a Search For Tomor-row,” Cineaction 70 (Summer 2006): 66.

43. Maher’s career is instructive in understanding the political- cultural climate immediately after the events of 9/11. On his talk show of the time, Politically Incorrect , airing on ABC, Maher said,

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“We have been the cowards, lobbing cruise missiles from 2,000 miles away. That’s cowardly. Staying in the airplane when it hits the building, say what you want about it, it’s not cowardly.” Not long after, ABC canceled the show. www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNMhNJDRnhU. That same year, 2002, Maher published the nonfi ction book When You Ride Alone You Ride with Bin Laden , a critical survey of the political response to 9/11, the Bush administration’s “war on terror,” and American oil consumption.

44. Breitbart News, “Churches Buying Tickets for ‘Son of God,’ Interest Level Akin to Summer Blockbuster,” www.breitbart.com/Big- Hollywood/2014/02/14/churches- buying- son- god- tickets- theaters.

45. Michael Cieply, “Can God Make It in Hollywood?” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/2014/02/23/sunday- review/can- god- make- it- in- hollywood.html?ref=opinion&_r=1.

46. An example is legislation the Arizona state legislature passed, but the governor vetoed, that would have allowed businesses in the state to deny service to LGBT customers on religious grounds. Jaime Fuller, “The Arizona ‘Religious Rights’ Bill,” Washington Post , www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/the- fi x/wp/2014/02/24/the- states- fi ghting- the- fi ght- between- religious- rights- vs- gay- rights/. Another example is the case before the Supreme Court brought by the crafts goods store Hobby Lobby against the Affordable Care Act, arguing that for religious reasons the store should be exempt from providing healthcare to its workers that includes contraception coverage. Nina Totenberg, “Hobby Lobby Contraceptive Case Goes Before Supreme Court,” NPR , www.npr.org/2014/03/25/293956170/hobby- lobby- contraceptive- case- goes- before- supreme- court. In June 2014 the court found in favor of Hobby Lobby.

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Political Films by Topic

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True Lies? The Rise of Political Documentaries

Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004) Dow

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Perhaps the most startling development in popular fi lm of the twenty- fi rst century was the improbable ascent of the documentary fi lm. Although documentaries have been an important art form since the dawn of motion pictures, until the contemporary era they have not been a signifi cant commercial force. In fact, none of the top ten most popular (nonmusical) docu-mentaries of all time was produced before 2002, when fi lmmaker and political raconteur Michael Moore’s pivotal Bowling for Columbine was released.

But what exactly is a documentary? There is no set, universally agreed- upon defi nition of the term. We might say that a documentary is intended to be nonfi ctional and therefore factual. Documentaries are also inherently propagandistic, in that they seek to convince the audience of some “truth.” They can even support activism by educating viewers on a par-ticular, often politically charged topic and urging a specifi c form of action to take. The recent history and success of documentary fi lmmaking challenge even these basic descriptions. Documentaries can be as entertaining and cinematic as narrative fi lms and formally more daring. Film critic Eric Hynes says, “The truth is that docs can and should be as varied and unruly as the world they capture.” 1 A.O. Scott asserts, “Documentary is, at present, hetero-geneous almost to the point of anarchy.” 2

Many of the earliest movies were in essence documentaries, as fi lmmakers simply turned their cameras on anything that was happening—before the conventions of fi lming fi ctional pieces had been developed. Called “actualities,” these early cinematic images, like “Fred Ott’s Sneeze” and “Workers Leaving a Factory,” captured daily life in quotidian moments. Soon, however, documentary fi lmmakers began making documentaries fi lms that, while not untrue, certainly manipulated reality to make their subjects more interesting and compel-ling. An early landmark documentary, Nanook of the North (1922), contained scenes of Eskimo life that appeared to be real, but were in fact staged by director Robert Flaherty, including sets designed to enable the use of fi lmmaking equipment. Although these kinds of techniques made documentaries more entertaining, they were not commercial successes and were rarely intended to be.

Documentaries became a little more commercial—and more controversial—in the 1960s and 1970s when several addressed audiences, in art house venues and later on television or videotape. Emile D’Antonio’s Point of Order (1964) taught a new generation about McCa-rthyism, using television fi lm footage of the Army- McCarthy hearings. D’Antonio followed Point of Order with In the Year of the Pig (1968), a movie about the Vietnam War, and Milhouse (1971), about President Richard Nixon. Both were more polemical, more contro-versial, and less successful than Point of Order . Frederick Wiseman, arguably the dean of American political documentarists, launched his series of documentaries about American institutions with Titicut Follies (1967), about a mental institution, followed by High School (1968), Law and Order (1969), Hospital (1970), and many others right up to Public Housing (1997) and beyond. Wiseman’s fi lms lack narration, pioneering for television the observa-tional style of documentary in which the cameras insinuate the viewer as a “fl y on the wall” and the denizens of the institutions speak for themselves.

In the 1970s, Barbet Schroeder’s General Idi Amin Dada (1974), about an African dictator, David Halpern’s Hollywood on Trial (1976), about Hollywood and the House Un- American Activities Committee (HUAC), and Barbara Kopple’s Harlan County USA (1977), about unions in the coal mines, all found small audiences. Hearts and Minds (1974), directed by Peter Davis, found a somewhat wider audience—and won an Oscar for Best Documentary. The title refl ected the unsuccessful U.S. strategy of trying to win “the hearts and minds” of the Vietnamese people in order to win the Vietnam War. Davis featured interviews with

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participants in the war, fi lmed comments of political and military leaders, and news footage of the war to make his points. According to Hal Erickson,

the fi lm was briefl y withdrawn from distribution when . . . [an] advisor to President John-son insisted that the advisor’s reputation had been damaged and demanded that the two minutes featuring [him] on- camera be deleted. More controversy arose when Hearts and Minds won the Best Documentary Oscar, whereupon the Academy issued a statement—read during the awards ceremony by Frank Sinatra—that it did not condone or advocate the volatile statements made by the producers during their acceptance speech. 3

The audiences for all these documentaries were small, mostly young, and liberal to radical. In their own small way, the documentaries contributed to the movements of the 1960s and 1970s, confi rming what some already believed and adding believers among the previously uninitiated (mostly college students). As the 1960s and 1970s turned into the 1980s and the “me generation,” interest in documentaries like these waned, but precedents had been set for today’s documentary fi lmmakers even as the concept of “hearts and minds” endured in the nation’s political consciousness.

While the documentaries of the 1960s and 1970s attempted to tell their stories and make their points in a reasonably entertaining way, more recent documentaries have further blurred the distinction between the imperatives of entertaining the audience with a story (as con-ventional movies do) and the factual quality traditionally associated with documentaries. A rerelease in the early 1970s of a 1930s pseudo- documentary about the evils of mari-juana, Reefer Madness (1938), had demonstrated the entertainment value of old propaganda fi lms. The Atomic Café (1982) successfully strung together old “documentary” footage in the form of government- issued fi lms about nuclear radiation. The old scenes in Atomic Caf é, including such absurdities as schoolchildren being asked to “duck and cover” under their desks (to music) in order to survive a nuclear attack, were at once comedic and helped the fi lmmakers ridicule the idea of nuclear war. The fi lm turned a profi t, won an Oscar, and nurtured the notion among fi lmmakers that a documentary could both entertain and make a political point. As Combs and Combs note, “by appealing to our higher emotions through humor . . . they gave political propaganda a whole new impetus toward light- hearted satire and parody.” 4

The Thin Blue Line (1988) was a riveting fi lm that further whittled down the distinction between documentary and other movies. The movie explores the 1976 murder of a Dallas policeman for which drifter Randall Adams was convicted and sentenced to death. Direc-tor Errol Morris used a mix of traditional documentary interviews and staged scenes that, cleverly strung together in an almost surreal way, turned the story into a highly engrossing mystery. The music of avant- garde composer Philip Glass underscored the mood of the fi lm, which led the viewer to question the offi cial story of the murder. The repetition of a staged reenactment of the crime, the incongruous offi cial story, and the hypnotic score combined to create an effective challenge to Adams’s guilt. In fact, the movie was so successful that it resulted in Adams’s release from prison the same year it was released—a rare example of a political fi lm achieving an observable and specifi c political result. Beyond that, The Thin Blue Line left the viewer with the clear implication that the “offi cial story” was not always to be trusted—even in capital murder cases.

Roger and Me (1989) introduced the world to Michael Moore, a folksy- looking and – talking, unabashedly liberal political provocateur. Moore’s movie traced his efforts

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to contact General Motors CEO Roger Smith about the fate of the fi lmmaker’s hometown of Flint, Michigan. But that search was only a ruse with which to tie together the movie’s exploration of economic despair in Flint. With Roger and Me , Moore discovered a way to improve upon The Atomic Café ; rather than just using old footage that was entertaining and politically provocative in its absurdity, Moore plumbed the city of Flint for contemporary scenes that achieved the same purpose even more effectively. As captured by Moore on fi lm, Flint’s economic woes yielded a panoply of emotions, including pathos (a family is evicted just before Christmas), humor (a woman tries to make a living skinning rabbits and sell-ing their hides), and disgust (various political and economic leaders appear to be indifferent to the fate of those affected by the city’s poor economy). Moore himself appeared throughout the fi lm, interviewing luckless citizens and (especially) trying to fi nd Roger Smith. Taken as a whole, the fi lm was an effective piece of political polemic; Moore made no pretense of objectivity and therefore did not try to present any balance in his indictment of Flint’s (and by extension, perhaps, America’s) political and economic elite.

Moore’s fi lm was, by documentary standards at least, a smash success, grossing nearly $7 million on a budget of less than $200,000. But perhaps more so than any documentary that preceded it, Roger and Me also created a hailstorm of politically pointed criticism that set the pattern for his subsequent fi lms. Critics charged that the movie was propaganda (true) and that it manipulated the facts and the people in the fi lm to achieve its political ends (also true). Moore’s defenders pointed out that all movies rearrange and manipulate “facts” to make their stories coherent and their messages clear. By combining entertaining vignettes and his own brash but personable character, Moore had created a new form of documentary with the potential to both entertain and, possibly, shape the public’s political imagination.

Moore again struck both gold and a political nerve with his release of Bowling for Col-umbine (2003). An exploration of the violence wrought by guns in America, Columbine represented a refi nement and expansion of the documentary techniques that had made Roger and Me such a success—and also fomented increased political controversy. Critics credit Bowling for Columbine for inaugurating what has been widely acknowledged as a “golden age” of documentary. 5

The title was taken from the fact that the two high school students who were responsible for the massacre of students at Columbine High School had been bowling the morning of the shootings. The incident at Columbine was only a starting point, as the fi lm took a wide- ranging look at guns and violence in American society. Compared to Roger and Me , though, Bowling for Columbine took some pains to be more thoughtful if not necessarily more objective. The fi lm probed the American plague of gun violence from a variety of angles; fi lmmaker Moore seemed genuinely unable to come up with a clear explanation for the problem of gun violence, although he did not hesitate to identify some likely villains along the way: gun fanatics, militia members, guns and ammunition manufacturers and sellers, and (particularly) the National Rifl e Association (NRA) and its leadership were allowed to indict themselves with their own simplemindedness. For example, James Nichols—brother of one of the men convicted for the Oklahoma City bombing—argues passionately, if not semi- psychotically, that one must be armed to fi ght for a political cause, but admits that he has never even heard of Gandhi and the idea of nonviolent political action. Yet the fi lm never explicitly advocated gun control as the answer to the problems it explored.

Like Roger and Me , Columbine was both thought- provoking and extremely entertaining. It also used Moore’s folksy presence and exploited the weaker moments of the individuals

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he chose to vilify. Moore threw in old documentary footage (à la Atomic Café ) of a 1950s TV commercial for a toy gun that sounds real, an animation sequence that resembled the popular cartoon show South Park , and even some acts of what might be called performance art (e.g., he took survivors of the Columbine incident to meet with K- Mart executives in an effort to persuade the store to stop selling ammunition). Moore also managed to provide a critique of welfare reform policy as he explored a tragic shooting by a fi rst- grader whose single mother was at work most of the day to earn a meager wage.

Although very popular at the box offi ce by documentary standards and praised by most fi lm critics, Bowling for Columbine predicated the same kind of critical and political melee that Roger and Me had sparked, but with much more volume. It certainly fomented debate in media circles. Critics pointed out that Moore had manipulated images and events to make his point and that he unfairly accosted celebrities like Charlton Heston (president of the NRA) and Dick Clark (who owned the restaurant where the fi rst- grader’s mother worked). More generally, such critics were alleging that Moore’s fi lm was not a documentary . If documen-taries are defi ned by a neutral point of view, then there is defi nitely some validity to this assertion, as Bowling for Columbine was unabashedly critical of American society, particu-larly with respect to the ownership and use of guns. In essence, like Roger and Me , it was a polemic that sought to lead viewers to conclude that something about Americans and guns was fundamentally askew. Taking a point of view, however, does not by itself distinguish Moore’s documentaries from others nor does it disqualify it from being a documentary.

The question that follows is to what extent “documentary” is a truly meaningful category of fi lm. Steve James, the director of Hoop Dreams (1994), Box Offi ce Mojo’s nineteenth highest grossing documentary, about two inner- city Chicago basketball players, doubts that it is. Refl ecting on the diversity of 2012 documentary fi lms, James declares, “It’s not a genre anymore.” 6 As we have seen, the trajectory for contemporary documentaries is the increas-ing emphasis on entertainment and narrative over the supposedly more traditional, neutral approach of “just the facts.” 7

But from the beginning, documentary fi lmmakers have selected aspects of reality in order to tell their stories, the version of the truth that they sought to tell. Is any other approach even possible? Consider how the unedited, unplanned eighty- one- second videotaping of the 1991 Rodney King beating resulted in a hung jury for the policemen who were accused of beating him, in part because the two sides in the courtroom were able to create widely convincing yet totally disparate interpretations of the same factual footage. The lens of the camera itself edits “reality,” excluding from sight whatever falls outside its frame. Filmmakers, in any event, are not about to start releasing unedited videotape . . . and Bowling for Columbine proved to be a relatively tame affair compared to Moore’s next production.

Although Bowling for Columbine smashed all previous box offi ce records for documen-taries by earning $21.5 million in gross receipts, nobody anticipated the juggernaut that Moore’s next “documentary,” Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004), would prove to be. Columbine , for all its success and media attention, was actually viewed in just a paltry 248 cinemas nationwide. Fahrenheit was shown in more than 2,000 theaters and became the fi rst documentary to actu-ally take the top position in weekly box offi ce ticket sales. The political debate it sparked was also perhaps the most vociferous and voluminous ever created by an overtly political fi lm and, given its proximity to the 2004 elections, potentially the most effi cacious. 9/11 became a political football even before its release when the subsidiary of the Disney Cor-poration with which Moore had contracted to produce the fi lm declined to release it. It was

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ultimately released independently (by executives from Disney), but the controversy played right into Moore’s hands as free publicity for his fi lm.

A searing indictment of the war in Iraq and the Bush administration’s role in its initia-tion, 9/11 represented the culmination of the elements of the quasi- documentary approach Moore had honed with his previous fi lms. Rather than relying as much on amusing stunts and the insertion of his camera- friendly provocateur persona, in 9/11 Moore took his docu-mentary approach back almost full circle to the observational style and remediation or use of previously fi lmed scenes. Abandoning the potpourri of techniques and scenarios thrown at viewers in Bowling for Columbine , he let his subjects’ own images both amuse and alienate his audience. President Bush is seen reading a book to a group of schoolchildren during the minutes immediately after being informed of the September 11 attacks. He is seen playing golf after making tough- guy comments about terrorism. He and his staff are seen preening before making on- camera appearances, including the unpleasant sight of Paul Wolfowitz licking his comb before raking it through licorice- slick hair.

One can agree or disagree with its politics, but Fahrenheit 9/11 made political reality seem . . . like a movie! The behind- the- scenes shots of politicians looking all too human were exactly what we have come to expect in a regular movie. The insertion of old Drag-net television scenes harked back to the “goofi ng” on the law in Reefer Madness , and other scenes that scoff at the danger posed by Iraq were reminiscent of The Atomic Café . Moore’s deft editing of September 11 footage, never actually showing the buildings under attack, only the on- looking crowd and the sounds of the attack (with a blank screen), was truly captivating. Although the fi lm lost momentum near its end, interviews with the mother of a dead American soldier comprised both a mini- mystery (when we meet the woman, we sense that something is troubling her deeply) and tragedy (when we learn that her son has died in Iraq).

This approach, therefore, was anything but artless. Moore (and his crew), for example, obviously combed through hours of fi lm footage to fi nd the most unfavorable images of Bush and his administration, the sort of scenes that mainstream media would traditionally shy from if only in the name of decorum. He linked these images to his thesis about the war and its illegitimacy, in part by lacing the fi lm with disturbing footage of the prosecution of the war itself. Amazingly, this linkage was achieved in a way that—although clearly upset-ting to his opponents—did not necessarily make an audience feel manipulated, particularly those sympathetic to its viewpoint. In short, Fahrenheit 9/11 was both a modern masterpiece of political propaganda and a movie with an unprecedented, very specifi c political objective. Moore timed the release of the fi lm (and its subsequent early release on DVD) to coincide with the presidential election of 2004. Extremely pointed interviews in the fi lm suggested that viewers might want to consider voting against the president.

At the box offi ce, 9/11 was a staggering success. It shattered the old mark set by Colum-bine by grossing over $100 million in its fi rst month of release, based on estimated ticket sales of more than $12 million, and remained among the top fi ve releases for more than a month. Public opinion polls revealed that 24 percent of American adults had seen the fi lm as of July 11, 2004, and that an additional 18 percent planned to see it at a theater and another 30 percent planned to see it on video. Even 38 percent of Republicans polled had seen or planned to see the fi lm despite its critical view of President Bush. 8 Clearly, 9/11 had the potential to affect both support for the war in Iraq and the outcome of the 2004 election.

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The political fallout from 9/11 was and is on a level unmatched by modern fi lms. In antici-pation of criticism from defenders of the president and the war itself, Moore created a “war room” that would deal with accusations of inaccuracy. However, this time Moore’s critics were not only from the political opposition. Even some liberals who generally agreed with Moore’s view of the Iraq war faulted him for manipulating his audience and taking liberties with the images of Bush and others in the fi lm. Others took a more sympathetic view, assert-ing that although Moore may have used crass and even unfair methods to make his case, these are the precise methods by which his political opposition (in other media) has thrived. Wrote one commentator, “Moore is such a fi tting adversary to the current administration—and its mainstream media chorus of approval—because he knows how to speak in precisely the same vocabulary of sensation, sound bites and sheer emotionalism that the [Bush admin-istration] uses to promote its policies.” 9

Fahrenheit 9/11 in many ways embodied a “natural experiment” for exploring the rela-tionship between fi lm and politics. It was as overtly a political fi lm as was imaginable, to which record numbers of voters and politically active individuals were exposed. Its context seemed to embody a perfect storm of a controversial war, an upcoming election, and the growing confl ation of reality and cinematic imagery (also seen in so- called reality televi-sion). Would it have any measurable or verifi able effect on political events, or did it merely serve mainly to preach to the choir, exerting little sway on those not already predisposed to its point of view?

Public interest in political documentary fi lm seemed on the increase. Even before the success of Fahrenheit 9/11 seemed to spill over onto other politically charged documenta-ries, Errol Morris’s documentary The Fog of War (2004) was a modest sensation, winning an Oscar and generating a fair amount of political discussion. The fi lm was essentially a straight interview with former Defense Secretary Robert McNamara, focusing on his role in the Vietnam War. Errol Morris invented a special device called the “Interrotron” that allowed the interviewee to look directly into the camera and see the interviewer (Morris) rather than the camera. The device was said to relax the interview subject and also make the audience feel closer to the interview. Although it was not nearly as innovative and seductive as Morris’s The Thin Blue Line , The Fog of War did implicitly raise eerie parallels between what McNamara believes were the mistakes of the Vietnam War and the war in Iraq. Without the latter confl ict as a backdrop, it seems doubtful that The Fog of War would have created much of a stir, nor would it have become the tenth most fi nancially successful documentary in American fi lm history.

Another war- related documentary that attracted some viewers, Control Room (2004) explored the Arab- language television network Al- Jazeera. Directed by an Egyptian- American, the fi lm went behind the scenes at the network to provide American audiences with a view of the Arab media. Although it was relatively low- key about making a message, like The Fog of War the fi lm had obvious implications for the Iraq war, questioning the role of journalists as “objective” participants and showing how audience expectations actively shape news production. “It benefi ts Al- Jazeera to play to Arab nationalism, because that’s their audience,” says an American Marine press representative in the fi lm, “just like Fox plays to American patriotism. . . . That’s their demographic audience and that’s what [their viewers] want to see.” However, the audience for this challenging work was limited by a narrow release .

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Another documentary- like fi lm, Super Size Me (2004), was a much bigger box offi ce draw. Director Morgan Spurlock expanded on Michael Moore’s participant- observer tac-tics by basing the entire fi lm on his own single stunt. In Super Size Me , he eats nothing but McDonald’s food for an entire month as the fi lm chronicles his subsequent health problems. The message was pretty clear—junk food is bad for one’s health—but the stunt made the message a lot more entertaining. Audiences ate up this act to the tune of more than $10 mil-lion in box offi ce gross, making Super Size Me the fourth most popular documentary.

The fi lm’s release appeared to have had the immediate political impact of causing the McDonald’s Corporation to announce the end of its “super size” option, although that con-nection was denied by McDonald’s. Critics have since questioned Spurlock’s reporting. They dispute that he consumed 5,000 calories eating only McDonald’s meals three times a day and that his diet caused the kidney ailments and related health problems he asserted. Ironically, Spurlock has not responded to his critics, just as in the fi lm McDonald’s does not return his calls. Nonetheless, Super Size Me infl uenced other movies critical of the industrial food movement. These include the ensemble- cast dramatization of the popular nonfi ction book Fast Food Nation (2006). Its poster features a baby, viewed from behind, wearing stars- and- stripes diapers with arms stretched high as he stares up at two burgers positioned like breasts above him. The documentary Food, Inc . grossed $4.5 million by retreading some of the same ground as Super Size Me and then casting a wider net to explore the trade- off between economic value and convenience on the one hand and nutrition and environmental concerns on the other. Unlike Super Size Me , Food, Inc . fi nds a few bright spots to highlight. Wal- Mart now sells organic produce.

Several more intensely political documentaries were released in 2004, including Out-foxed: Rupert Murdoch’s War on Journalism , a fi lm that sought to expose the right- wing bias of the publishing mogul’s Fox Network news, and The Hunting of the President , a fi lmed version of the book by Joe Conason and Gene Lyons (subtitled The Ten- Year Campaign to Destroy Bill and Hillary Clinton) . Both fi lms emerged from openly liberal Democratic sources that did little to efface their partisan origins. Neither was greeted with a great deal of commercial interest; both were screened in only a few cities (although Outfoxed was quickly made available on DVD). The lack of public interest for these straightforwardly deadpan partisan statements suggested limits to the phenomenal expansion of the documentary in the modern cinema.

However, as the fi rst decade of the new century passed into the second, documen-tary’s “golden age” maintained momentum. In 2011 alone, out of some 800 feature- length fi lms with theatrical releases in the United States, more than 300 were documentaries. 10 Reasons for the increase include the cheaper cost of quality recording equipment, the multiple viewing platforms available for distribution, and also the economic success of a generation of entrepreneurs. The so- called dot.com bubble (1995–2000) and the job-less economic recovery beginning in 2009, among other factors, allowed great wealth to concentrate in the hands of a few. Many of these entrepreneurs were young and attuned to the possibilities of using social media to create sociopolitical change, and they spent their money to produce politically provocative documentaries. The term “fi lmanthropy” names this trend.

Venture capitalist and owner of the Washington Capitals hockey team, Ted Leonsis made the fi lm Nanking (2007), a straightforward recounting of the rapes and murders of 300,000 Chinese civilians and soldiers in the city of Nanking in the late 1930s. The fi lm cost roughly

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$2 million to produce. According to Leonsis, fi lmanthropy and political awareness go hand in hand. People like him use their money to “make something that can drive people to under-stand an issue. It brings together philanthropy and understanding how media works.” 11 Thus the fi lmanthropy movement provides wealthy individuals the opportunity to make fi lms and raises funds for fi lmmakers concerned with issues philanthropists want to promote. The movement also highlights the broadly political and Hollywood- outsider side of the docu-mentary’s “golden age.”

Advocacy Documentaries: The Invisible War

Recent documentaries frequently build narratives around investigations. They seek to expose a political truth that has been obscured, often by people with vested interests in keeping the public in the dark, or they shed light on a topic more ignored than actively suppressed. As A.O. Scott says, “The dominant approach to documentary fi lmmaking nowadays is more argumentative, even prosecutorial.” 12 Documentaries like 2010’s Inside Job , Waiting for “Superman,” and Gasland (and its sequel, Gasland Part II , 2013) address “complex, highly politicized and enormously consequential issues in a way that combines explanation with advocacy.” 13 As much as any other recent documentary The Invisible War (2012) takes a “prosecutorial” approach to the topic of sexual assaults against American military personnel by perpetrators that the victims count on being able to trust most—other military personnel. According to the fi lm, in 2012 an estimated 26,000 sexual assaults occurred, up from 19,000 in 2011.

The Invisible War puts on trial the U.S. military’s inept response to the crimes committed within its house. It also targets the command structure for fostering an environment that has allowed these crimes to continue undiminished. As director Kirby Dick explains, “There are hundreds of thousands of survivors in this country. They were completely voiceless. I’ve never come to a story where fewer people knew the story than this story.” 14 Dick’s fi lm gives speech to those deprived of a voice by pulling back the curtain on the military justice sys-tem and allowing rape victims to declare truth to democratic power—actual Congressional

The Invisible War (2012) looks at the epidemic of sexual assault in the military.

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representatives. In scenes all the more harrowing for their simple shot- countershot con-struction and medium close- up framing, a cast of primarily female victims details their experiences of being battered fi rst by assailants (many of them in authority positions over their victims) and then by a system biased in favor of offenders. (The cases represented most prominently include one male assault victim.)

The fi lm reports that since 1991 over 500,000 military men and women have been sexu-ally attacked. Out of more than 3,000 reported cases in one year, fewer than 200 ended with punitive action against the perpetrator. Left to their own devices by a military that trained them to think of fellow soldiers as brothers and offi cers as trusted mentors, the victims describe lives left in pieces, with rapists allowed to go free or even enjoying successful military careers. “They gave him the military professional of the year award during the rape investigation,” explains one victim about her rapist. Accounts of psychological pain—“I have never seen trauma like I’ve seen from veterans who have suffered military sexual trauma,” says one doctor—and obvious discrimination—“You’d see a guy get fi ve years for drugs and two weeks for rape,” says one researcher—organize the fi lm.

The featured victims include Kori Cioca, a Coast Guard service member left with a frac-tured face after being raped by another Guard member. He continued to harass her after the assault and, as is typical of many cases, he remained in the service while she left. Never eligible to collect disability benefi ts despite persistent emotional diffi culties and physical problems, including an inability to eat anything other than soft foods and liquids, Cioca, also like other victims, attempted suicide. In one of the fi lm’s most devastating moments, she reads the letter she wrote her mother when she planned to die.

The Invisible War ’s advocacy on behalf of the epidemic’s victims includes the Artemis Rising Recovery Fund, founded by the fi lmmakers. The fi lm’s website also provides a num-ber of ways for viewers to take action, such as signing a petition to push for change.

The Invisible War (2012) became mandatory viewing for military personnel as bills before Congress sought to change the adjudication of military assault cases.

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A 2012 Best Documentary Academy Award nominee, The Invisible War led to direct political action. Advocating for the removal of military rape prosecutions from the chain of command, the fi lm was viewed by U.S. Defense Secretary Leon Panetta, who announced two days later that prosecutorial decisions would no longer be left to the immediate supervi-sors of the accusers and accused. Republican senator Susan Collins and Democratic senator Claire McCaskill then put forward a bill to limit a military commander’s ability to dis-miss a court- martial conviction for sexual assault and to mandate dismissals or dishonorable discharges for anyone convicted of rape or sexual assault in the military. Senator Kirsten Gillibrand followed with legislation that would take the prosecution of rape cases out of the victim’s chain of command in an effort to remove the fear of reprisal from victims weighing whether to report a crime. Referring to legislative and military action on the issue spurred by The Invisible War , promotion on the fi lm’s website puts it this way: “That’s the documentary equivalent of a box offi ce blockbuster.” 15

Documenting the Great Recession

Pre- Recession Economic Documentaries

Before the collapse of the world economy in 2008, a few documentaries presaged the com-ing calamity not in so many words but by drawing attention to dark clouds looming on the economic horizon. Notable among these were The Corporation (2003); Enron: The Smart-est Guys in the Room (2005); and Wal- Mart: The High Cost of Low Prices (2005). Together they brushed early strokes in a developing portrait of an unsustainable economy jeopardized by global corporations detached from local communities, investment trading run amok, and corrupt business practices. All these scenarios fi t into an anti- regulation political climate fostered by President Clinton and taken to new extremes during George Bush’s presidency, with his tax cuts that favored the wealthy. One result was a laissez- faire attitude that encour-aged, or at least allowed, regulators to look the other way from collusion and monopolistic practices in various markets and an increase in the number of the working poor—employed people laboring at multiple jobs but still unable to afford a decent lifestyle off government assistance.

The Corporation observes that like the Catholic church of yesteryear, today’s corpo-ration is the all- pervasive dominant institution. After a series of nineteenth – and early twentieth- century Supreme Court decisions—upheld in the recent Citizens United and Hobby Lobby decisions—established that a corporation resembles more a person than any other kind of entity, corporations also enjoy certain rights accorded individuals, includ-ing property rights, freedom of expression, and religious liberty. 16 The fi lm follows these rulings to their logical conclusion by asking, if corporations are people, what kind of people are they? Through studies of examples of harm that “the corporation” has infl icted on others—from Agent Orange to bovine growth hormone to manipulative children’s commercials—the fi lm diagnoses the patient as psychopathic, not evil but lacking moral conscience. The narrator explains, “They are required, by law, to place the fi nancial inter-ests of their owners above competing interests. In fact, the corporation is legally bound to put its bottom line ahead of everything else, even the public good.” Shareholder activ-ist Robert Monks describes how corporations can legally “make other people pay the bills for its impact on society,” a concept known as “externalities.” Monks concludes, “A

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corporation is an externalizing machine in the same way that a shark is a killing machine.” An unwary or uncaring public will foot the bill for whatever the corporation can get away with externalizing to it—for example, health insurance and, increasingly in the fast food business, a living wage. Earning almost $3.5 million at the box offi ce, The Corporation is among the top fi fty highest- grossing American documentaries.

Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room provides a maddening look at the profi t- driven pathology of corporations by laying out the story of how Enron, once America’s seventh- largest corporation, lauded for its cutting- edge business model, turned out to be little more than an elaborate Ponzi scheme. The fi lm was a success, earning just over $4 million at the box offi ce to make it the thirty- seventh highest- grossing documentary. Among other fraudu-lences, Enron perfected the art of “mark to market” accounting, tagging mere estimates of future profi ts as actual on- the- books assets. As bankruptcy neared, top executives dumped their own Enron stock while encouraging employees to keep investing their 401(k) funds into buying more. An energy- trading company, Enron manipulated the California power market by creating a phony crisis and repeatedly overcharging the state to put it back online. In his review, Roger Ebert remarks on the disaster, “The cost was incalculable, not only in lives lost during the power crisis, but in treasure. . . . If the crisis had been created by Al Qaeda, if terrorists had shut down half of California’s power plants, consider how we would regard these same events.” 17 This calculus exposes the political advantage American corporations enjoy—we would not let foreign “others” treat us this way, but home- grown corporations do so with impunity.

Wal- Mart: The High Cost of Low Prices looks at another behemoth corporation, analyz-ing its “psychopathic” business practices and their effects on local communities. Though different from Enron’s brand of malpractice, the news about the impact on the American economy of the world’s largest retailer and the United States’ largest private employer is not much better. The price paid for Wal- Mart’s low prices? Underpaid domestic employees made to work overtime for free; an increasingly unbridgeable income gap; virtual slaves in sweatshops abroad; sub- minimum wages paid to illegal immigrants to clean stores at night; anti- union activities to prevent worker organization; women and African- Americans with years of experience repeatedly denied management positions; the instant death of locally owned businesses when Wal- Mart comes to town; and workers directed to apply for Medic-aid, food stamps, and other forms of government assistance, the very defi nition of corporate “externalities.”

Facing a slew of employee lawsuits, Wal- Mart has become a whipping boy for liberal activists like the fi lm’s director, Robert Greenwald. Some critics faulted the fi lm for bias. Yet critic Andrew O’Hehir suggests that Wal- Mart’s plea of ignorance about its global quest to drive costs, wages, and prices ever downward

dwarfs the already galactic scale of what George W. Bush and Dick Cheney presumably didn’t know about Iraq. It’s a crude analogy, but the same philosophical approach to the world is at work here, and it’s no accident that Greenwald’s earlier fi lms—which pioneered his distinctive guerrilla- marketing approach—have tackled Fox News, the Iraq war, and the 2000 presidential election. 18

However slanted the fi lm’s political approach, the relentless downgrading of the Ameri-can economy and the replacement of middle- class careers with low- paying service jobs that

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do not provide basic benefi ts like health insurance are dismaying facts. The observation that companies like Wal- Mart and McDonald’s play a role in this scenario remains undisputed.

Capitalism: A Love Story; Inside Job

In 2008, the bottom fell out of the world’s economy: the overheated housing market self- immolated, and longtime Wall Street stars like Lehman Brothers went belly- up and Bear Stearns went on life support. Presidential contender John McCain sealed his fate with voters by fi rst declaring that the underlying fundamentals of the American economy were sound and then suspending his campaign to return to Washington to help fi x a problem so large even he had to admit the status quo, in the hands of his own party under President Bush, was failing. On a campaign slogan of “The time for change has come,” Barack Obama won the presidency only to discover that what the necessary economic “change” should be was far from clear. Job losses accelerated, average families saw their life savings vanish, and the poor slid even further down the economic ladder’s splintered rungs. Documentary fi lms addressing the perfect storm of factors that crashed the economy include Capitalism: A Love Story (2009) and Inside Job (2010).

Michael Moore’s Capitalism: A Love Story looks at a wide range of corporate externalities—that is, the social costs of corporations doing what they do, which is pursuing profi ts to the detriment of the common good even at a time when the economy was shedding some 14,000 jobs a day. Moore takes aim at both political parties and expresses dismay at Obama’s unwillingness or inability to bring about substantive reforms, especially of Wall Street. Expertly wielding the tools of the documentarian’s trade, Moore uses rare archi-val footage, personal interviews, and news excerpts to question whether capitalism actually serves well the country that venerates it. Moore also puts his own spin on the material with satire: he addresses the sticky issue of derivatives, an “exotic” fi nancial product so compli-cated that the three experts he asks to explain it all fail. Capitalism: A Love Story is at its best in scenes featuring homeowners foreclosed on by banks; a widower informed that his wife’s employer collected “dead peasant insurance” on her (when a company takes out a life insurance policy on employees and then collects a payout when they die); a family losing their fourth- generation farm. Humorous, grandstanding stunts round out the fi lm and mark it as Moore’s: a citizen’s arrest on the board of AIG; Wall Street marked off in yellow crime- scene tape as Moore uses a bullhorn to demand taxpayers’ money back.

The fi lm also probes the parasitic relationship between Washington’s political elite and the fi nancial interests of Wall Street, starting with former Federal Reserve chair Alan Greenspan, a housing bubble champion caught off guard by the crash, and including the federal bailout of Wall Street fi rms and big banks that was engineered by former Goldman Sachs CEO and Treasury secretary Hank Paulson, a man who rescued his own. Along the way Moore reveals how members of Congress and other politicians were granted special interest rates and fi nancial favors, never falling victim to the circumstances that put so many Americans out of work, home, and health. A deep- bellied cry for fairness, Capitalism: A Love Story loses focus in spots, but when its buckshot spray hits, as much as we might want to, it is hard to look away. Earning more than $14 million at the box offi ce, Capitalism is the fourteenth highest- grossing documentary.

In a more soberly analytic style, former software entrepreneur and millionaire Charles Fer-guson’s Inside Job , Academy Award winner for Best Documentary, creates a comprehensive

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and devastating portrait of a fi nancial industry in over its head yet profi ting wildly from its recklessness and the neoliberal fi scal policy and free market ideology that politically enabled it. With a title defi ned as “a crime committed by or with the assistance of a person living or working on the premises where it occurred,” Inside Job exposes the scheming that churned this disaster into high gear: a solipsistic, greed- fueled Wall Street with no minders, no regu-lation, no moral compass, and no shame. Inside Job ’s fl uency in the language of fi nance adds to its persuasiveness as interviewees and a pitiless narrator (liberal- minded fi lm star Matt Damon) rattle off terms like “subprime mortgages,” “predatory lending,” “toxic mortgage assets,” “RMBS” (residential mortgage- backed securities), and “CDOs” (collateralized debt obligations) as bloodlessly as a croupier at a roulette table—a sadly fi tting analogy, the fi lm makes clear.

As Roger Ebert succinctly explains,

Here is the argument of the fi lm, in four sentences. From Roosevelt until Reagan, the American economy enjoyed 40 years of stability, prosperity and growth. Beginning with Reagan’s moves against fi nancial regulation, that sound base has been progressively eroded. The crucial federal error (in administrations of both parties) was to allow fi nancial institutions to trade on their own behalf. Today many large trading banks are betting against their own customers. 19

That timeline emerges through archival footage and interviews with key Wall Street and political players—as well as keen journalists, academics, and a Manhattan madam who attests to the heady levels of prostitution and cocaine permeating Wall Street just before the crash.

The fi lm excels at explaining the complicated arrangements that allowed Wall Street fi rms to take positions on all sides of a fi nancial transaction so that no matter what happened to clients or others, Goldman, Sachs and similar investment fi rms walked off with millions, including the likes of Lehman Brothers’ CEO Richard Fuld: he raked in half a billion dol-lars from a historic company even as he ran it into the ground. Then, when all of it came

Inside Job (2010) fully investigates the global fi nancial crisis of 2008.

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crashing down like the house of cards it was, these same high- fl ying players’ fi rms and banks required huge infusions of cash so that everyday transactions fundamental to the economy did not stall out completely. This phenomenon became known as “too big to fail.” Like Moore’s fi lm, Inside Job spares no one, least of all the shameless fi nanciers who reaped obscene amounts of money—while average people suffered enormous calamity—and the Obama offi cials who continued the Wall Street–White House revolving door of previous administrations. Exhibit A: Tim Geithner, who replaced Paulson as Treasury secretary, was, like Paulson, formerly of Goldman, Sachs—the investment fi rm Rolling Stone memorably called “a great vampire squid wrapped around the face of humanity, relentlessly jamming its blood funnel into anything that smells like money.” 20 Second to Capitalism: A Love Story in the category of popular economic documentaries, Inside Job earned more than $4 million.

In the ascendance of fi gures like Elizabeth Warren, a tough talker on behalf of consumer protection in the fi nancial industry, Inside Job offers glimmers of hope that the system can be changed for the good. (Since the fi lm she was elected as a senator from Massachusetts.) As with Corporation and Wal- Mart: The High Cost of Low Prices and their scenes of optimism based on community action, however, it is hard not to think that ship has sailed . In 2013, the Associated Press reported, “Four out of 5 U.S. adults struggle with joblessness, near- poverty or reliance on welfare for at least parts of their lives, a sign of deteriorating economic secu-rity and an elusive American dream.” 21 Around the same time, a report commissioned by Congress revealed,

The average family’s income is lower today than at any point in the last 10 years. Income inequality is more extreme today than at any point since before the Great Depression, with the top 1 percent of income earners receiving 93 percent of income gains in the recovery. In the third quarter of 2012, corporate profi ts reached $1.75 trillion, their greatest share of GDP [gross domestic product] in history. During that same quarter, workers’ wages fell to their lowest share of GDP on record. 22

These documentaries trace that shocking decline to the cozy relationship between the political and fi nancial elite. Avaricious Wall Street fi rms and big banks substitute casino gambling with abstract, nearly incomprehensible trading practices and, rather than regulat-ing them, a compliant, ideologically sympathetic political class in need of campaign money turns a blind eye. In the documentary’s prosecutorial spirit, these fi lms hold such people criminally accountable, as the legal system mostly has not.

Documentary and Disaster

The prosecutorial spirit and advocacy mission of recent documentaries fi nd a perfect fi t with disaster documentaries addressing everything from global climate change to oil spills, from tsunamis and nuclear accidents to war atrocities. One prominent example: Hurricane Kat-rina’s devastation of New Orleans in 2005 occasioned its own subgenre—so- called “Katrina fi lms,” both documentary and fi ctional. Costing $2 million in production costs, the most widely viewed of the documentaries was Spike Lee’s HBO four- part series, When the Lev-ees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts (2006). As the title indicates, Lee’s blistering study of the hurricane’s destruction focuses on the inadequate government response to the initial disaster. For though the hurricane itself wrought its share of damage, the disaster spread

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uncontrollably when the city’s safeguards against fl ooding, primarily the levees of Lee’s title, failed. The levees’ inability to hold back the waters was no surprise to some experts, while the failure of the National Guard to sandbag and restore the barriers caused the deaths of nearly 2,000 people, leaving the low- lying city underwater.

Lee fi rst explores the measures taken before Katrina’s nightmarish assault, tracing in detail the George W. Bush administration’s almost willfully poor understanding of the full nature of the coming catastrophe. The “requiem” case against the government thus indicts fi rst its failure to predict the disaster and then its inability to meaningfully and successfully, or even earnestly, respond to it. Images of blatant apathy toward what New Orleans mayor Ray Nagin dubbed the “chocolate city” predominate as scenes of destroyed infrastructure and unbearable human suffering give the fi lm a defi nitive air. Offi cials like Nagin share the screen with celebrity activists like actors Sean Penn and Harry Belafonte. After a compre-hensive exploration of the measures that need to be taken to restore the city and prevent future calamity, the forceful political message of the fi lm is that this unique city and its citi-zens, sacrifi ced by government incompetence and indifference in 2005, will likely fare no better the next time disaster comes to call.

While documentaries defending the government’s insuffi cient and possibly criminally negligent response to Hurricane Katrina are unlikely, the potential disaster posed by the increase in hydraulic fracturing to produce oil on American soil has led to two different takes. Best Documentary Oscar- nominated Gasland (2010) and the sequel Gasland II (2013) emphasize the dangers of “fracking,” while FrackNation (2013) argues that shale gas may well be a miracle answer to America’s twenty- fi rst- century energy needs. Fracking is a process energy companies use to extract oil and natural gas from deep underground, often in areas with no history of oil or gas drilling. The injection of fl uid at high pressure into under-lying rock formations pries apart narrow fi ssures to release trapped gas or crude oil, which then fl ows through a pipe to the surface. The method is most often used to retrieve gas from shale fi elds located hundreds and thousands of feet underground.

Theater director turned documentarian Josh Fox prosecutes the case against fracking in the form of a fi rst- person narrative. Asked to lease his Pennsylvania land for $100,000 so a natural gas company can explore it for gas deposits, Fox researches the history and effects of fracking. What he discovers is alarming. In 2005, Congress passed legislation that exempted fracking from environmental regulations like the Clean Water Act. Deregulation led to a drilling boom in more than thirty states. As energy companies like Halliburton fail to return his calls, Fox travels through states pocked by drilling sites and uncovers nightmare sce-narios. Most famously, he records residents near fracking sites who can light a fl ame near their water faucets and set the polluted tap water on fi re. Powerful graphics and animation help make the case that the lethal brew of chemicals injected underground to release the gas endangers the safety of drinking water by inevitably polluting nearby river basins and watersheds. The fi lm’s politics are clear: we must regulate fracking or lose a natural resource more vital than fossil fuel.

Described by Variety as “rough- hewn” and “poetic,” veering between “nightmarish moods and lyrical reveries, even while the camera peers into the faces of government and corporate offi cials,” Gasland won the Special Jury Prize at the 2010 Sundance Film Festival and achieved its goal of drawing attention, if not viewers, to its cause. 23 Screened in only a handful of theaters to earn under $31,000, Gasland is more known about than actually watched. It inspired numerous posts on Youtube.com of people lighting their tap water on

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fi re, attracted to its cause celebrities like singer- artist Yoko Ono and actor Mark Ruffalo, and doubtlessly helped push Congress to instruct the Environmental Protection Agency to investigate the link between hydraulic fracturing and poisonous drinking water. In 2012, the feature fi ction fi lm Promised Land debuted. Set in a worn- out Pennsylvania town, it pits gas company salespeople, who are encouraging citizens to lease their land for drilling, against a teacher and local activist opposed to the plan.

Following the release of Gasland , gas companies launched campaign efforts like the Independent Petroleum Association of America website, “Energy in Depth,” to sway public opinion about the safety and desirability of fracking. Fox returned with Gasland II (2013), an even more anguished, information- laden cry to end fracking. Fox even got arrested in 2012 for fi lming congressional hearings on the issue, and his work led directly to the counter- documentary FrackNation . 24

Produced independently on a shoestring budget, FrackNation is journalist Phelim McAleer’s attempt to balance the scales. Directly addressing perceived shortcomings and misrepresentations in Gasland , McAleer interviews pro- fracking residents from the same town featured by Fox and forces anti- fracking Fox supporters to admit to a lack of evidence for their claims. While the fi lm never manages to transcend its dependence on Fox’s origi-nal fi lm, it does a respectable if not entirely convincing job of cracking open the debate. The New York Times defended the fi lm’s purpose: it “underscores the sheer complexity of a process that offers a fi nancial lifeline to struggling farmers. Whether it also brings death to their water supply is something we won’t fi nd out by listening to only half of the debate.” 25

Wartime Documentaries: Why We Fight and No End in Sight

Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 topped box offi ce records for documentaries and did so taking on the treacherous relationship between the attacks of 9/11, the presidency of George W. Bush, the “neoconservative” policies of his inner circle, and the misleading justifi cation for war in Iraq. Following that unprecedented success, a spate of documentaries debuted, addressing the escalating wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Fed by journalists imbedded with military units in the fi eld, soldiers equipped with inexpensive but quality recording devices, and the controversial nature of the launching of the Iraq war, these documentaries embody a variety of political and human perspectives on the wars.

This mini- genre includes the following 2000- era releases. In Gunner Palace (2004), fi eld artillery soldiers known as the “gunners” hunker down in one of Saddam Hussein’s luxury palaces while enduring continued hostilities despite George Bush having declared the end to major combat operations. In a more overtly political vein, Iraq for Sale: The War Profi teers (2006) investigates corporations like Halliburton and Kellog, Brown and Root that enjoyed sweetheart contract deals with the government to deliver materiel and services that in previ-ous wars were provided entirely by the military itself. Though few corporate offi cials agreed to participate in the fi lm, former employees, survivors of employees killed in the fi eld, and soldiers serviced by the corporations all testify to profi teering—the companies’ dismaying drive for profi ts over safety, quality, and love of country.

Iraq in Fragments (2006) views the personal cost of war and occupation through the eyes and voices of regular Iraqis, while another cinema verité-styled documentary, The War Tapes (2006), is comprised solely of footage shot by a group of National Guard members when they were called for duty in Iraq and given digital video cameras to record their experiences.

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Produced by HBO, The Ghosts of Abu Ghraib (2007) focuses on the torture of prisoners at the hands of American soldiers in a now notorious prison in Iraq in the fall of 2003. It makes the case that these heinous acts were not, as was suggested at the time, the result of a few bad actors low on the chain of command. By putting their atrocities in the context of memos on “enhanced interrogation” from the likes of Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, the fi lm indicts the chain of command all the way to the White House. Finally, Restrepo (2010) concerns the year journalist Sebastian Junger and photographer Tim Hetherington spent teamed up with the Second Platoon fi ghting the Taliban in a strategically valuable valley in Afghanistan.

None of these fi lms scored big audiences, and even fi ction war fi lms like Lions for Lambs (2007), Stop- Loss (2008), and The Green Zone (2010) proved box offi ce duds. By the end of the decade, the number of war documentaries and fi ctional fi lms alike slowed to a trickle. Critics blamed their failure to attract audiences on “war fatigue,” yet two war documentaries from this period did break the top 100 box offi ce documentaries, although just barely. Why We Fight (2006) and No End in Sight (2007) each grossed just under $1.5 million.

Borrowing the title of a series of pro-World War II propaganda fi lms made by Frank Capra, Why We Fight takes the long view, tracing twenty- fi rst- century wars to 1950s President Dwight D. Eisenhower’s famous warning about the development of a “vast military- industrial complex”—a convergence of political and corporate interests that created an America permanently poised to wage war. In the fi lm’s view, confl ict of interest is an out-moded concern when it comes to the relationship between American foreign policy and the industries that supply the necessities of war, especially since the United States has turned to outsourcing or “privatizing” the way it fi ghts. According to the Christian Science Monitor , by 2008 the Department of Defense employed 155,826 private contractors in Iraq and only 152,275 troops. In Afghanistan in 2010, the government hired 94,413 contractors compared with 91,600 troops. Between 2001 and 2010, the United States spent nearly $5 billion a year employing contractors, an unprecedented shift from military or public personnel to civilian or private personnel. 26 Winner of the 2005 Sundance Film Festival Grand Jury Prize for documentary, Why We Fight argues that contracting out services and supplies the military once provided itself ratchets up the civilian government’s predisposition to engage in mili-tary action.

Directed by Eugene Jarecki, director also of the political documentaries The Trials of Henry Kissinger (2002) and Reagan (2011), Why We Fight cuts back and forth between archival footage of wartime politicians—President George W. Bush, his vice president Richard Cheney, and President Richard Nixon among them—and interviews made for the fi lm—including with some of Eisenhower’s descendants, Senator John McCain, disillu-sioned military offi cer Karen Kwiatkowski, and William Sekzer. Sekzer’s son died in the 9/11 attacks, and in his grief and desire for revenge, Sekzer got his son’s name etched on a bomb dropped in Iraq. Once it became clear that Iraq had nothing to do with the events of 9/11, Sekzer felt manipulated and deceived. His story provides fodder for fresh indignation in a movie that treads familiar intellectual and historical territory. A convincing case against the unholy alliance between business and government, Why We Fight takes for granted why we care . Yet, as Roger Ebert reasons, the fi lm did not have much impact at the box offi ce or on the politics of war because “What it says should concern us, but apparently it does not.” 27

Directed by Inside Job ’s Charles Ferguson, a former political scientist and one- time sup-porter of the Iraq war, No End in Sight focuses squarely on the arrogance and incompetence

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of the engineers of the post- invasion war. Laying out key decisions made by men like Cheney, Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, American diplomat and leader of the Coalition Provisional Authority in Iraq L. Paul Bremer III, and U.S. Deputy Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz during 2003, after major combat operations had been declared over, the fi lm sets out to answer why by 2007 Iraq, despite all the salesmanship pitching the opposite view, had turned into a quagmire. Twice in the fi lm we see Rumsfeld say he doesn’t “do” quagmires, yet all else in the fi lm points to his culpability. To today’s audi-ence, the historical analysis is compelling yet depressingly familiar: the disastrous and apparently hasty decision to purge all remaining Baathists (members of Saddam Hussein’s political party) from Iraqi civil services and to undo Iraq’s military; the lack of a coordi-nated strategic response to looters and other warning signs that the United States was not being “greeted as liberators,” as Cheney predicted, but was in fact facing an incipient insur-gency; ideologically correct opinions repeatedly trumping pragmatic and expert advice; young, inexperienced administration loyalists leapfrogging seasoned professionals to jobs beyond their skill set. Thus, No End in Sight takes an overt political stand on the bungled prosecution of the war, one even the most dyed- in- the- wool war proponents would have diffi culty refuting.

Political Documentary Redux: 2016: Obama’s America

Though earning only less than half earned by the one ranked just above it (the 2011 concert movie Justin Bieber: Never Say Never ), the fourth highest- grossing documentary at this time is a political fi lm in the spirit of Fahrenheit 9/11. Like that fi lm, 2016: Obama’s America was released in time to impact a presidential election, purported to reveal hidden truths about the man in offi ce, and played to audiences predisposed to agree with its message—in this case, an audience hostile to and suspicious of the nation’s forty- fourth president. Despite a weak debut in only one theater, the fi lm went on to earn more than $33 million in over 2,000 theaters, the most successful conservative- leaning political documentary ever. Its tag line, “Love him or hate him, you don’t know him,” suggests the fi lm’s mission—to explain the inexplicably “different” president, Barack Obama. 2016: Obama’s America is based on a Forbes Magazine essay by one of the fi lmmakers titled “How Obama Thinks.” With that piece of political psychoanalysis as its starting point, it projects into the future what the country will be like should the president win a second term—it isn’t pretty. Money burns and the Statue of Liberty’s visual prominence suggests the erosion of American liberties. Dinesh D’Souza approaches his subject like an astronaut encountering an alien life form, mysterious and unknowable. The Forbes piece repeatedly invokes words like “odd,” “anomaly,” and “strange” to describe the president and his policies, stressing, “The President’s actions are so bizarre that they mystify his critics and supporters alike.” 28

D’Souza’s Obama is an adult in thrall to the absent African father he met only once, deter-mined to fulfi ll the elder’s anticolonial convictions espoused in academic articles. The fi lm’s premise is that his father’s anticolonialism has transformed into today’s anti- Americanism and thus Obama’s desire to please his dead father means the diminishment of the very coun-try he leads. D’Souza’s proof? According to 2016 , Obama intends to work against Britain to help return control of the Falkland Islands to Argentina and to have the Middle East become the “United States of Islam.” When he is not racking up government debt to fund social-ist policies, he is busy undermining Israel and giving Iran a pass. To complete this suspect

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A poster promotes 2016: Obama’s America (2012), an anti- Obama documentary released in time to try to infl uence the 2012 presidential election. ( Courtesy of Getty Images )

profi le, D’Souza quotes from Obama’s own writings and returns to 2008 election ghosts like former radical activist Bill Ayers and the controversial Rev. Jeremiah Wright. A competently made documentary, 2016: Obama’s America lacks Fahrenheit 9/11 ’s theatricality and heft, relying more on conjecture than factual events. It does, however, share that fi lm’s political legacy: neither fi lm turned the election its way.

Documentary style and political practice intersect in important yet unpredictable ways. With the fi nancial, if not electoral, success of fi lms like Moore’s and D’Souza’s, we are certain to see other such efforts. In the summer of 2013, a full three years before the next presidential election, Politico reported that CNN had selected Charles Ferguson to direct a feature documentary about former secretary of state and rumored 2016 presidential contender Hillary Clinton for release “in theaters and air on CNN.” 29 The announcement provoked con-troversy on both sides of the aisle. Clinton supporters feared a hatchet job. Conservatives complained that so much exposure would bias people in her favor, and Republicans banned CNN from their party’s schedule for the 2016 candidate debates. Fewer than three months

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later, Ferguson declared the project dead in the water: “When I approached people for inter-views, I discovered that nobody, and I mean nobody, was interested in helping me make this fi lm. Not Democrats, not Republicans.” 30 Thus, lack of cooperation from people pegged to participate in the fi lm, and perhaps fear of political repercussions for doing so, and not lack of support from his fi nancial backers, killed the fi lm.

Even without strong box offi ce performances, recent political documentaries about envi-ronmental and social injustices have achieved measurable political impact by kick- starting legislation and inspiring congressional hearings. Audiences may never fl ock to political doc-umentaries as they do to blockbuster fi ctional fi lms, but that fact matters less to fi lmmakers than do such fi lms’ potential for making a cultural splash and achieving measurable political effect.

Notes

1. Eric Hynes, “We’re Living in a Golden Age of Documentary,” Slate , www.slate.com/articles/arts/culturebox/2012/02/tabloid_senna_the_interrupters_and_other_documentaries_overlooked_by_the_academy.html.

2. A.O. Scott, “Documentaries (In Name Only) of Every Stripe,” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/2010/10/17/movies/17scott.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0.

3. Hal Erickson, “Hearts and Minds,” All Film, www.allmovie.com/movie/v21924. 4. James Combs and Sara Combs, Film Propaganda and American Politics: An Analysis and

Filmography (New York: Garland, 1994). 5. Thomas White, “The Dusking of the Golden Age? A Look Back and Forward,” Documentary.

org, www.documentary.org/content/dusking- golden- age- look- back- and- forward. See also, “The New Golden Age of Documentaries,” NBC News, www.today.com/id/5279181/ns/today- today_entertainment/t/new- golden- age- documentaries/#.UkBjDryKs9M. See also, “Steve James Hails a Golden Age of Documentary Filmmaking,” The Guardian , www.theguardian.com/fi lm/2011/jun/06/steve- james- golden- age- documentary.

6. Quoted in Hynes. 7. At least since the post-World War II neorealist movement, fi ctional fi lms from Arthur Penn’s

Bonnie and Clyde (1967) to Kelly Reichardt’s Wendy and Lucy (2008), among others, have included long takes of documentary- like footage featuring actual settings and unprofessional actors.

8. “Majority of Adults Expect to See Fahrenheit 9/11 ,” Gallup, www.gallup.com/poll/12379/Majority- Adults- Expect- See- Fahrenheit- 911.aspx.

9. Geoff Pevere, Toronto Star , June 25, 2004, available online at http://jpfi tness.com/showthread.php?58911- F911- the- critics- speak.

10. Hynes. 11. Thomas Heath, “Leonsis’s ‘Filmanthropy’ Plants a Seed With Buddies,” Washington Post , www.

washingtonpost.com/wp- dyn/content/article/2007/01/24/AR2007012401887.html. 12. Scott, p. 2. 13. Ibid. 14. “How Oscar’s Military Rape Documentary Might Change Everything,” Daily Beast ,

www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2013/02/07/the- invisible- war- how- oscar- s- military- rape- documentary- might- change- everything.html.

15. The Invisible War , http://invisiblewarmovie.com/. 16. Thom Hartmann, Unequal Protection: The Rise of Corporate Dominance and the Theft of Human

Rights (New York: Rodale Books, 2004). See also, Jeffrey D. Clements, Corporations Are Not People: Reclaiming Democracy from Big Money and Global Corporations (Oakland: Berrett- Koehler Publishers, 2014). For a more succinct explanation of the court decisions related to corporate citizenship and property rights, free speech, and religious liberties see, PBS.org, http://www.pbs.org/now/politics/corprights.html.

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17. Roger Ebert, “Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room,” www.rogerebert.com/reviews/enron- the- smartest- guys- in- the- room- 2005.

18. Andrew O’Hehir, “Beyond the Multiplex,” Salon.com, www.salon.com/2005/11/03/btm_35/. 19. Roger Ebert, “Wall Street’s Dirty Rotten Scoundrels,” Inside Job , www.rogerebert.com/

rogers- journal/wall- streets- dirty- rotten- scoundrels. 20. “The Great American Bubble Machine,” Rolling Stone , www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/

the- great- american- bubble- machine- 20100405. 21. “Exclusive: 4 in 5 in US Face Near- Poverty, No Work,” Yahoo News, http://fi nance.yahoo.com/

news/exclusive- 4- 5- us- face- 175906005.html. 22. “Are Wal- Mart’s Low Wages a Drag on the Economy? A New Report Says Yes,” Forbes , www.

forbes.com/sites/lauraheller/2013/05/31/are- wal%E2%80%90marts- low- wages- a- drag- on- the- economy- new- report- says- yes/.

23. “Gasland,” Variety , http://variety.com/2010/fi lm/reviews/gasland- 1117941971/. 24. “Documentarian Is Arrested at House Hearing,” The Carpetbagger, New York Times , http://carpet-

bagger.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/02/01/documentarian- is- arrested- at- house- hearing/. 25. “Fracknation,” New York Times , http://movies.nytimes.com/2013/01/11/movies/fracknation- a-

documentary.html. 26. “A Lesson From Iraq,” Commentary, www.csmonitor.com/Commentary/Opinion/2013/0319/

A- lesson- from- Iraq- war- How- to- outsource- war- to- private- contractors. 27. Roger Ebert, “Why We Fight,” www.rogerebert.com/reviews/why- we- fi ght- 2006. 28. “How Obama Thinks,” Forbes , www.forbes.com/forbes/2010/0927/politics- socialism- capitalism-

private- enterprises- obama- business- problem.html. 29. “CNN to Produce Hillary Clinton Film,” Politico , www.politico.com/blogs/media/2013/07/cnn-

to- produce- hillary- clinton- fi lm- 169427.html. 30. “CNN Hillary Clinton Movie Canceled,” Huffi ngton Post , www.huffi ngtonpost.com/2013/09/30/

cnn- hillary- clinton- movie- canceled_n_4016080.html?ncid=edlinkusaolp00000003.

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Film and the Politics of Race The Minority Report

Bamboozled (2000)

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As in every other aspect of American life, the mix of racial politics and fi lm has been vola-tile, resulting in a rich and complex history. The depiction of minorities in popular movies has generally been both refl ective of social and political reality and occasionally intended to send political messages. But the study of minorities in the movies is fraught with com-plexities. What constitutes a “minority fi lm”? Must such fi lms (1) be directed by minorities, (2) feature many minority actors, (3) emphasize race- related social and political issues, and/or (4) be created primarily for minority audiences? With respect to the political impact of movies, do movies create or refl ect racial confl ict and other outcomes?

In this chapter, we focus selectively on the evolution of fi lms by and about African- Americans. One rationale for this approach is that race relations between whites and blacks have proved to be the most enduring confl ict in American society—as well as the one most often depicted in popular movies. We focus on fi lms and events from the latter part of the twentieth and beginning of the twenty- fi rst century, as this era represents the most interesting and most complex and widely viewed part of the cinematic landscape. These fi lms include both refl ections of race relations and efforts that create more pointed political messages about race relations. Certainly volumes could be devoted to the study of other racial minor-ity groups, although the way popular movies have treated other minorities often parallels the way they have treated African- Americans.

From the onset, the depiction of African- Americans in fi lm has been problematic. The Birth of a Nation , as discussed in Chapter 4 , provoked such outrage, including boycotts and censorship laws, that Hollywood was loath to address race relations directly for decades. Additionally, the Production Code strictly forbade representations of miscegenation. Subse-quent studio fi lms thus avoided Birth ’s depiction of blacks as threatening savages and found it easier to avoid Code violations by sidelining African- American characters altogether. Instead, when early fi lms did feature black characters, they were almost universally depicted in subservient roles as demeaning caricatures, including happy, shiftless Uncle Toms, kind but witless Mammy servants (as in 1939’s Gone With the Wind ), dancing fools, and “coons,” who appeared lazy and stupid and spoke a nearly unintelligibly thick dialect. At the same time and specifi cally in response to the traumatizing depictions of blacks, white supremacy, and race relations in Birth of a Nation , independent black directors and producers were cre-ating an alternative cinema, called “race movies.” Although developed for limited audiences in segregated theaters, race movies, as a writer from the time period explained, “all have the same motive, namely, to present Negro fi lms about and for Negroes, showing them not as fools and servants, but as human beings with the same emotions, desires and weaknesses as other people’s; and to share in the profi ts of this great industry.” 1

The most important and widely known of these artists, Oscar Micheaux, created more than forty movies between 1919 and 1948. 2 Produced with extremely limited resources, these fi lms counteracted the racism of D.W. Griffi th’s work. Within Our Gates (1920) was meant specifi cally to repudiate The Birth of a Nation and addressed the very audience Griffi th’s fi lm both degraded and ignored by casting black actors in black- identifi ed roles. Promotion for Within Our Gates hailed its audience, claiming the fi lm “takes up a problem in which every member of the Colored Race is vitally interested,” and boasted that “every actor is of the Colored Race.” The movie was described as “the greatest preachment against race prejudices” and “full of details that will make you grit your teeth in silent indignation.” Micheaux’s political intent defi es the racist depiction of blacks- in- burnt- cork in Birth of a Nation . He also rebutted Griffi th’s racist ideology by using parallel editing, or what Griffi th

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called “switchbacks,” to build suspense at the fi lm’s conclusion just as Griffi th does. While the climax to The Birth of a Nation cuts back and forth between white people hiding out from marauding freed slaves in a remote country cabin and the Clan riding to their rescue, Within Our Gates ends by alternating between scenes of a lynching of an African- American couple and, in a house not far away, the sexual assault of a young black woman by an older white man. Micheaux’s ending corrects the view of racial violence and moral turpitude promoted in Griffi th’s work, effectively switching the roles of victim and criminal from black against white to white against black. When the would- be rapist realizes the woman he is attacking is his own “mixed race” relation, he stops. Thus Within Our Gates stops short of exploiting sexual assault but only after depicting a representation of group violence more historically accurate than Griffi th’s. White lynch mobs attacking black victims were far more common occurrences than former slaves victimizing white landowners.

However, race fi lms were ultimately no match for Hollywood, which would not distribute fi lms by budding black independent fi lmmakers and trumped them with richly produced all- black musicals with characters almost always conforming to stereotype. Hearts in Dixie (1929), advertised as “200 Negro Entertainers From the Levees and the Cotton Fields,” starred Stepin Fetchit as Gummy, a lazy shiftless husband who lets his wife do all the work and calls a voodoo woman to aid his sick daughters. Advertised as “Realistic!” and “Earthy!,” King Vidor’s Hallelujah (1929) attempted to showcase African- American dance and music from an authentic, less stereotypical perspective yet featured characters with names like Chick, Hotshot, Mammy, and Zeke. Entered into the Library of Congress’s National Film Registry, Hallelujah includes the traditional Negro spirituals “Goin’ Home” and “Swing Low Sweet Chariot” yet they are presented alongside songs by Irving Berlin and Stephen Foster. Although Vidor received an Oscar nomination for the fi lm, he was forced to put up part of the funding himself. Almost twenty years later Vincente Minnelli’s Cabin in the Sky (1943) cast the groundbreaking Lena Horne in her fi rst substantial part.

The 1960s and 1970s: Hollywood Discovers Minorities

Race relations and the war in Vietnam dominated the politics of the 1960s, yet Hollywood avoided both issues until late in the decade, apparently assuming that an issue that polarized the nation would offend too many people to turn a profi t. The same rationale had applied to fi lms about race since the tumultuous response to The Birth of a Nation , although there had been honorable exceptions in the late 1940s ( Pinky , Home of the Brave , Intruder in the Dust ) and 1950s ( The Defi ant Ones , Imitation of Life , The World , The Flesh and The Devil ). The powerlessness of blacks in popular fi lm mirrored their status in the political system itself.

In the 1960s, however, Hollywood discovered that race could sell tickets. Minority issues were hot, and a vaguely liberal national consensus on civil rights had developed; as long as fi lms played safely within that consensus, they could appear controversial yet please the majority. This trend accelerated when the fi lm industry belatedly noticed that minorities themselves constituted a substantial potential audience. A decade of civil rights activism had prepared audiences to accept a greater and more realistic presence of blacks in Hollywood fi lms.

One of the fi rst successful fi lms dealing with race was Alan Pakula’s To Kill a Mocking-bird (1962), with Gregory Peck as a brave lawyer defending a black man accused of rape in a small southern town. In the Heat of the Night (1967), directed by Norman Jewison, was

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an even bigger hit. The story of a racist southern sheriff (Rod Steiger) and a northern black lawman (Sidney Poitier) who are forced to work together, In the Heat of the Night ridiculed the southerner’s racist attitude toward the clearly superior black cop. The fi lm was an all- round hit, winning Academy Awards for best motion picture, script, and actor (Steiger) and later spawning a TV series.

Another contender in the 1967 Oscar race was also antiracist: Stanley Kramer’s Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner , which starred Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy as parents whose daughter is about to marry a black doctor (Sidney Poitier) so handsome, selfl ess, and intelligent it is less clear why he wants to marry the daughter than why she wants to marry him. Audiences loved this comedy, and both Hepburn and the script won Oscars, but critics were hard on the movie, pointing out that the problems of its affl uent families were irrel-evant in an era of ghetto riots. To their credit, such movies condemned white racism, but most did so in a sanitized way calculated not to offend white audiences. The racist charac-ters were such crude caricatures that whites could join in the condemnation without feeling guilty about their own racial sensibilities. The liberalism of these fi lms was thus well within the national consensus of the time. Yet such fi lms may have paved the way to even greater racial tolerance.

Although Poitier, who went on to forge an important civil rights and social activist record, was ridiculed for playing cuddly, acceptable blacks in his 1960s fi lms, his screen presence surely helped prepare white audiences for integration, even if some whites were shocked when they found out that not all blacks were like Sidney Poitier. This fact became abun-dantly apparent in a spate of 1970s fi lms that featured nearly all- black casts and plenty of action. Loosely labeled “blaxploitation” movies, these fi lms featured a new “Superspade” stereotype: a suave but tough black hero “who lived a violent life in pursuits of black women, white sex, quick money, easy success, and a cheap joint, among other pleasures.” 3 This ste-reotype was politically empowering, but also socially demeaning and ultimately a dead end for blacks in the movies.

The mold was set by independently produced Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song (1970s). Shot on a shoestring budget in South Central Los Angeles, it is the story of a sex- show per-former (Sweetback, played by director Marvin van Peebles) who witnesses the beating of black revolutionaries by white cops. In turn, Sweetback roughs up the cops and must then live on the run—indulging in sex and violence and outsmarting the dimwitted white police manhunt. The movie was a minor sensation, grossing more than $10 million and providing the impetus for a score of Hollywood copycat efforts. (The story of the fi lm’s creation was the subject of a quasi- documentary, Baadasssss! , in 2004.) Sweetback and movies of its ilk projected an empowered, if fl awed black male amid a corrupt, mostly white political system.

Subsequent movies like Shaft (1971) and its sequels, Shaft’s Big Score (1972) and Shaft in Africa (1973), as well as Superfl y (1972) and Coffy (1973), demonstrated that blaxploita-tion fl icks—and therefore, movies that featured black characters and themes—could attract a crossover (white) audience, even if their political messages were muddled in the emphasis on sex, drugs, and violence. Critics denounced their “reverse racism,” since the (white) man was often portrayed as weak, corrupt, and stupid, but black and white audiences were drawn by the action as well as the mystique of the Superspade stereotype. Suddenly, black was very cool at the box offi ce. Coffy and its follow- up Foxy Brown (1974) even demonstrated that black women could join in on the action. However, the blaxploitation craze was short- lived, and the spate of copycat and sequel black action fi lms died out.

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The Politics of Black and White in the 1980s

Racial politics was still a hot topic in America in the 1980s, but fi lmmakers pretty much steered clear of it. John Sayles touched on it in Matewan (1987), however, and a few other fi lmmakers also addressed America’s most persistent political challenge.

Ragtime (1981), for example, based on E.L. Doctorow’s panoramic historical novel of turn- of- the- century America, features a variety of characters and political themes in elabo-rately interwoven stories. Director Milos Forman chose to focus on a mild- mannered young black man, Coalhouse (Howard E. Rollins Jr.), who is driven to radical revenge after white racists destroy his car. With no recourse in the law, he resorts to violence. A black attorney refuses to help Coalhouse on the persuasive grounds that other clients have greater needs, and Booker T. Washington (Moses Gunn) makes a strong case for his own pacifi st tactics, but Ragtime stays resolutely on the side of Coalhouse as well as its other nonconformist, antiauthoritarian characters.

Ragtime ’s treatment of the subject of race is very different from that of Sidney Poitier’s movies of the 1960s. Despite the fi lm’s historical setting, Coalhouse is an up- to- date char-acter, proud and stubborn, with a chip on his shoulder, insistent on his rights, unwilling to placate whites on any terms. Unfortunately, whatever message Ragtime meant to send was lost in obscure motivations and a confusion of subplots. From Coalhouse’s extreme actions (he leads a break- in of magnate J.P. Morgan’s home) to his shooting death on the order of a seemingly decent police commissioner (James Cagney), Ragtime provides few clues to the characters’ motivations. Despite fi ne performances, this distancing kept audiences from identifying with the characters, and Ragtime ’s rich and beautiful evocation of the American past was not enough to sustain it. Critics and audiences were unenthusiastic, and although the movie was nominated for fi ve Academy Awards, it won none.

Mississippi Burning (1988), directed by Alan Parker and written by Chris Gerolmo, was a tougher and more forthright fi lm about the politics of race, set in Mississippi in 1964. Based on the true story of the FBI investigation of the disappearance of three young civil rights workers (one black and two white), the movie conveys a strong sense of the tension in a small southern town caught up in the civil rights battles of the 1960s. Gene Hackman and Willem Dafoe portray two very different FBI men, with Hackman as the cautious, good- ol’- boy southerner and the younger Dafoe as a more aggressive outsider. Their challenge as investigators is to get anybody—black or white—in the tight little town to talk about what happened. Whites, many of whom may have been complicit in the murders, keep to themselves. Blacks keep silent out of fear. One who refuses to talk to the agents is nevertheless beaten by local Klansmen. But as Roger Ebert pointed out, one of the strengths of this fi lm was that “there are no great villains and sadistic tor-turers in this fi lm, only banal little racists with a vicious streak.” 4 Although some critics condemned the fi lm for focusing on white FBI agents when blacks were the real heroes of the era, Mississippi Burning got mostly rave reviews and won several Academy Award nominations.

Costa- Gavras’s fi lm Betrayed (1988), scripted by Joe Eszterhas, touched on a similar but more contemporary subject less successfully. Debra Winger plays an undercover FBI agent assigned to investigate white supremacists—but she falls in love with the prime sus-pect (Tom Berenger). Reviewers condemned the movie, as they did Mississippi Burning , for dealing with racism by focusing on white characters, but while some critics thought

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Mississippi Burning was redeemed by its script, acting, and sense of place, others dismissed Betrayed for the heavy- handedness of its message.

Spike Lee, the preeminent African- American director of his or perhaps any era, brought racial politics in America completely up to date in Do the Right Thing (1989), which he wrote, directed, and starred in. An array of black and white characters interacts at a pizzeria in New York’s Bedford- Stuyvesant neighborhood on a single, oppressively hot summer day. An Italian family runs the pizzeria, survivors of an era when the neighborhood was pre-dominantly Italian. Now it is black and poor, and a minor disagreement between the pizzeria owner and one of the black residents results in racial insults, slurs, and eventually violence, provoked by heat, poverty, and the insecurities of the neighborhood’s varied residents. Lee’s high- energy fi lm is funny, moving, and provocative at the same time, with some sympathy and understanding for all its characters. Hal Hinson of the Washington Post called Do the Right Thing “a moral workout. At once a plea for tolerance and a rationale for violent oppo-sition, the fi lm embraces both its patron saints, Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, and then invites us to hassle out the contradictions.” 5 Some audiences were elated by the ambiguity of this fi lm’s message, whereas others were frustrated. Spike Lee accepted both reactions, declaring, “All we can do is present the problems.” 6 Although only modestly successful at the box offi ce ($26 million gross), Do the Right Thing captured some awards, two Oscar nominations, and a considerable amount of media attention. Despite its evocation of a par-ticular time and place, this 1980s- era fi lm remains relevant and important thirty years later and a fi xture on many must- see lists.

Lee himself became a signifi cant fi lm artist and political fi gure with the success of Do the Right Thing . He had burst on the scene three years earlier with an independently pro-duced hit, She’s Gotta Have It (1986), which demonstrated both his directing skills and his ability to make fi nancially successful movies about blacks and black themes. Lee skillfully parlayed this success in a way that enabled and inspired other black artists—actors, direc-tors, and others—to succeed also. He also was and is extremely visible and outspoken, becoming a prominent, if often controversial, spokesperson for black concerns about fi lm. Unlike many other directors (black and white), Lee is able to make movies with racial subjects and themes that, instead of refl ecting social and political reality, create an alterna-tive vision that frequently constitutes an alternative to Hollywood stereotypes, although not always a coherent race- related message. Even as the popular and critical attraction of his fi lms has been inconsistent, Lee has been adamantly reluctant to pigeonhole his politi-cal message.

Directed by Edward Zwick, Glory (1989), on the other hand, had a more straightforward message. Kevin Jarre’s script told the story of a regiment of black soldiers led by white offi c-ers in the Civil War. Seen through the eyes of a white offi cer (Matthew Broderick), Glory was criticized as yet another fi lm about race told from a white perspective. But powerful per-formances from Denzel Washington and Morgan Freeman as black soldiers provide balance. During the war, blacks were not fully trusted by either side, and black soldiers were thought to be too undisciplined and unreliable to be effective. The 54th Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry, made up of free northern blacks as well as escaped slaves, fought bravely in some of the bloodiest battles of the war, disproving the prejudice against them. As a result, the North recruited more black troops, and the added manpower was crucial to winning the war. Another issue in the fi lm is that the black troops received lower pay than the white

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troops. When the black soldiers refuse to accept their unequal paychecks, their white offi c-ers join them, producing a bond between them that contributes to their success. The distance between the races, however, is never glossed over. Glory opened to good reviews, and won Academy Awards for soundtrack and supporting actor Denzel Washington, only the second of three African- American actors ever to win that award.

The 1990s: The Emergence of Black Directors and Blaxploitation Revisited

The 1990s inaugurated some signifi cant new trends in black cinema, although black fi lms never attained truly consistent and widespread commercial success. Inspired and enabled by the success of Spike Lee, African- American directors attained modest success with a series of chronicles of life in South Central Los Angeles—the impoverished black community of Southern California. Most prominently, African- American director John Singleton created Boyz N the Hood (1991), a gritty narrative about young blacks coming to grips with the realities of the prospects they face. White characters are generally portrayed as bigoted and as hindrances to black advancement. The fi lm received several Oscar nominations and estab-lished Singleton as a candidate to join Spike Lee as a prominent black fi lmmaker.

Working a similar vein, twin African- American directors Albert and Allen Hughes cre-ated Menace II Society (1992). Another effective exploration of life in the Los Angeles ghetto, Menace was even less hopeful about the prospects for young urban blacks than was Boyz N the Hood . But neither Singleton nor the Hughes brothers were successful in carv-ing out subsequent releases that would expand upon their visions of black America. Both wound up as part of the recent blaxploitation revival, with Singleton remaking Shaft (2000) and the Hughes brothers creating their Dead Presidents (1995) heist fl ick. Although both Singleton and the Hughes brothers demonstrated great potential in their subsequent releases, they did not match the critical and commercial success that their initial fi lmmaking forays had represented.

Instead of heralding the advent of a vital new African- American cinema, racially dis-tinctive mainstream cinema in the 1990s for the most part was treading water. A host of heist movies, reminiscent of the politically neutered blaxploitation era, emerged. New Jack City (1991) helped cut the mold. Mario Van Peebles, son of the director of Sweet Sweet-back’s Baadasssss Song , directed this entertaining crime- genre fi lm with a mostly black cast. Whereas in the old blaxploitation movies the villains were generally white, in New Jack City the bad guys are black—and so are many of the cops who are after them. Although this and similar fi lms introduced a new generation of fi lmgoers to the blaxploitation concept, they did little to advance a political agenda for black fi lms.

Spike Lee remained the standard- bearer for widely distributed and politically provoca-tive African- American fi lm. His Malcolm X (1992) was a hard- nosed, three- dimensional biography of the political activist. It also propelled Denzel Washington (in the title role) to fame as a crossover star. Far from a Hollywood glamorization of the fi ery orator, Malcolm X explored the complexities and ambiguities of his life in a way that was compelling to main-stream audiences; however, the fi lm is, to date, Lee’s last undisputed critical and commercial triumph. In the blockbuster, CGI- dominated fi lm scene of the early twenty- fi rst century, Lee tellingly resorted to the capital- raising website Kickstarter to fi nance his latest project, exceeding his goal in thirty days. 7

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Everything Is Buddy- Buddy

Race relations, as depicted in American cinema in the 1980s and 1990s, were frequently rep-resented in what came to be known as an interracial variation of “buddy movies.” Typically, such fi lms entailed an “odd couple”—a white and a black, frequently policemen—whose exploits were entertaining and also innocuous. The comedy revolved around the juxtaposi-tion of stereotypical white and black social behaviors. The smash hit 48 Hrs (1982) was a typical example and perhaps a progenitor of this mini- genre. Circumstances oblige a white police offi cer (Nick Nolte) and a black convict (upcoming star Eddie Murphy) to work together to solve a crime. 48 Hrs was a generally mindless crime romp; the real appeal of the movie (and its sequel) was the contrasting of a stereotypically white character with a black counterpart.

The success of 48 Hrs meant that the same formula would be repeated numerous times in the 1990s in such popular releases as Beverly Hills Cop (1984) and Lethal Weapon (1988) and their various sequels. Although these very popular series and a host of derivative knock-offs did not seek to say anything beyond their superfi cial (yet frequently entertaining) action sequences, they did seem to imply an ultimately cozy relationship between the races that exceeded any social reality of the era. Hollywood seemed intent on smoothing over the social reality of race relations in the United States. The fact that the black and white charac-ters were typecast as initially incompatible itself pointed to the idealization of race relations that such movies projected. Yet audiences clearly enjoyed many of these buddy movies, so perhaps a charitable interpretation is that they may have helped to engender a more tolerant, if not necessarily enlightened, relationship between the races.

The black and white buddy concept was pushed to extremes by white director Quentin Tarantino’s hugely popular Pulp Fiction (1994). Pulp Fiction is a loosely strung- together series of vignettes featuring phenomenally cool criminals. One of the central stories involves two supercool criminals portrayed by white actor John Travolta and black actor Samuel L. Jackson. The script calls for Jackson, particularly, to make frequent use of the offensive term “nigger,” albeit in a self- consciously hip way. Spike Lee criticized Tarantino for exploiting the term (which Tarantino also used frequently in his 1997 blaxploitation update, Jackie Brown ), setting off a public feud between the two directors. The incident pointed to the greater issue of the political sensitivity of contemporary white directors’ portrayal of black issues. The two clashed again when Lee refused to see Tarantino’s Django Unchained (2012), a revisionist western set in the slavery- era South. Lee stated publicly that attending the movie would be disrespectful to his ancestors. On Twitter, Lee wrote, “American Slavery Was Not a Sergio Leone Spaghetti Western. It Was A Holocaust. My Ancestors Are Slaves. Stolen From Africa. I Will Honor Them.” 8 As in Pulp Fiction , Samuel L. Jackson plays a tricky part in Django Unchained , a wily “house slave” who deceives the sadistic plantation owner played by Leonardo DeCaprio while also siding with him against Django, a freed slave with a self- determination that Jackson’s character resents.

In Driving Miss Daisy (1989), a grumpy old southern white woman is paired with a black chauffeur. Although they begin at odds with each other, by the end of the drama they realize what good friends they have become and how much they have in common. Immensely popu-lar at the box offi ce (and awarded the Best Picture Oscar award), the fi lm seemed to project a liberal message of racial tolerance while still accommodating the existing racial order. How-ever, one critic, writing about The Human Stain (2003), in which Anthony Hopkins portrays

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an African- American passing as white, observed that such movies (like the buddy fl icks) constitute “intellectual and moral comfort food. . . . They do not challenge the oddly sooth-ing traditional template of racial thinking—the premise, which is increasingly a myth, that there are two and only two brightly delineated racial identities.” 9 Responding to criticism for casting a Welsh actor in the lead role, director Robert Benton said, “Who could I have cast? Someone ‘blacker’ than Hopkins would have subverted the movie’s challenge, which is to consider the corner into which people are painted by the politics of racial identity.” 10 The Human Stain died at the box offi ce, but offered a much more nuanced portrayal of race relations than many fi lms that touch upon the subject.

White directors offered a few fi lms that challenged status quo racial politics in the 1990s. Steven Spielberg, who had explored racial issues before with The Color Purple (1986), directed Amistad (1997), a dramatization of the aftermath of a revolt by slaves on a ship bound for America in 1839. Amistad generated signifi cant controversy on several fronts: Spielberg was accused of plagiarizing the script from a black author (the charge was settled out of court), and historians complained that he had taken too many liberties with the his-torical record. Although Amistad is somewhat compelling as entertainment, one critic wrote that it “quickly turns into another courtroom drama where the noble white people must save helpless black people.” 11 By Spielberg’s lofty standards of profi tability, Amistad was a fl op, barely earning its $40 million budget in domestic receipts.

Another history- based effort, Jonathan Demme’s Beloved (1998), was an adaptation of a fact- based novel by black author Toni Morrison. The fi lm received critical praise as a gripping depiction of the lives of ex- slaves after the Civil War, in part due to standout performances by stars Oprah Winfrey and Danny Glover. Yet it failed to recoup even half of its $53 million budget at the box offi ce. Nonetheless, within the economic history of race in Hollywood, Beloved was signifi cant for bringing to screen a famous literary novel by an African- American female Nobel Prize-winning author and for being produced by an African- American woman (Winfrey).

Hoodwinked and Bamboozled

The 1990s ended with what was perhaps Spike Lee’s most racially provocative fi lm yet, Bamboozled (2000). The title was plucked from a speech in Lee’s Malcolm X in which Malcolm exhorted blacks to recognize all the ways they had been deceived. In Bamboozled , Lee explores racial stereotyping and exploitation in television and fi lm in an over- the- top tale of a black, Harvard- educated television- networking programmer, Pierre Delacroix (Damon Wayans), who tries to create a television show so offensive that he will be fi red. Instead, The ManTan Minstrel Show —in which black performers perform racially demeaning slapstick in blackface—becomes a hugely popular hit, leaving Delacroix to defend himself as its creator. (Reminiscent of the actual vaudeville actor turned 1930s–1940s movie star Stepin Fetchit, The ManTan Minstrel Show features Sleep’n Eat.) To call Bamboozled a satire is a gross understatement, and it is not an easy fi lm to watch; aside from its cringe- inducing evocations of minstrel humor, Lee chose to shoot the fi lm in digital video—consistent with the medium of television he is skewering, but also wearying. And as the plot progresses, it veers deeply into melodrama and away from the caustic satire it began with.

Nonetheless, watching the fi lm provides even the most knowledgeable viewer a remark-able look at the representational history of blacks in American entertainment. Into the central

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plot, Lee braids scenes and images from a diverse array of fi lm, television, and cartoons, including Birth of a Nation , Gone With the Wind , and the 1970s television shows The Jeffer-sons and Good Times , as well as Hollywood blackface comedians like Bert Williams playing pop- eyed, buffoonish sidekicks to white leads. Despite the increasingly tangential storyline, that history still stings even in the decade- plus since the fi lm’s debut.

Nonetheless, Bamboozled contains many insightfully hilarious scenes as well as a serious political conversation and trenchant cultural analysis, including a comparison of blackface minstrel shows to 1990s gangsta- rap music videos. Critical reaction varied widely. Stephen Holden of the New York Times praised it: “In going where few have dared to tread, Bamboo-zled is an almost oxymoronic entity, an important Hollywood movie. Its shelf life may not be long, nor will it probably be a big hit, since the laughter it provokes is the kind that makes you squirm. But that’s what good satire is supposed to do. Out of discomfort can come insight.” 12 But many other critics considered Bamboozled an undisciplined and incoherent mess, and audiences avoided it.

All-Black Casts

A few of the decade’s fi lms succeeded on the basis of telling stories with largely black casts that explored less stereotyped portrayals of black Americans. Soul Food (1997) tells the story of an extended black family in Chicago as seen through the eyes of its young narrator. Much of the drama revolves around the lives of the boy’s mother and her two sisters, who are competing with each other on various levels. The movie was a modest crossover hit, and although it did not project an explicit political agenda, it did familiarize audiences with more realistic images of black families than are typically found in Hollywood fi lms.

Based on the best- selling novel of the same title, Waiting to Exhale (1995) featured an all- black female cast, including Whitney Houston and Angela Bassett, and fi t into the decade’s gender politics. At the start of the decade, the Senate confi rmation hearings for Supreme Court nominee Clarence Thomas brought the issue of sexual harassment to the national con-versation. The sight of the all- male Senate committee grilling Anita Hill on her allegations against Thomas spurred a record number of women to run for offi ce. At the time, Hill was labeled “a little bit nutty and a little bit slutty” even as her case helped other women fi nd a vocabulary to talk about sexual- power dynamics. Acknowledging the sociopolitical moment, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences declared the “Year of the Woman” as its 1992 Oscars theme. A few years later, Waiting to Exhale focused on four successful women in various states of romantic dissatisfaction searching for men worthy of them. With gentle humor and mild melodrama, their tribulations support the clichés “a good man is hard to fi nd” but “it is hard to keep a good woman down.” Shot in a striking palette of oranges and reds set in an arid Arizona landscape, the fi lm drew female- dominated audiences, as Thelma and Louise had, by addressing women, regardless of but not blind to race. Academy Award-winning actor Forest Whitaker made his directorial debut with the fi lm, and it grossed nearly triple its production costs in the United States alone.

Another fi lm that avoided black stereotypes was Barbershop (2002), which takes place at a barbershop with a primarily black clientele. The owner, Calvin (Ice Cube), sells the shop to a seedy character who intends to turn it into a strip club, and the action occurs on its last day of business. Most of the fi lm centers on the conversations of the barbers and their clientele. Although not a fi lm intended to make a political statement, Barbershop did

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arouse political controversy because of a comedic monologue by one of the barbers (played by Cedric the Entertainer) that invokes negative opinions about Rosa Parks, Rodney King, and O.J. Simpson. Some black leaders (notably the Reverend Jesse Jackson) argued that the fi lm denigrated Rosa Parks by suggesting that her fame was somewhat undeserved and that the movie thus demonstrated the lack of appreciation for civil rights pioneers among young black Americans. The fi lm’s producers defended the scene, arguing that the lines were spoken by a character who is clearly the clown of the barbershop. If nothing else, the controversy demonstrated how political fi ssures in the black community at the time made it diffi cult for even low- key fi lms with black casts to succeed without race becoming an issue. It also suggested just how high the sociopolitical stakes are when Hollywood produces so few fi lms about black experiences.

A 2003 movie with obvious political content, Head of State , spoofed race relations during the Bush administration. A weakly received political satire imagining comedian Chris Rock as president, the fi lm’s punch, such as it was, derived from how unlike the actual offi ce-holder Rock’s president was. It included scenes instructing fuddy- duddy white Washington how to dance, or “be black,” as did that year’s more lucrative Bringing Down the House . Both fi lms relied on a seemingly outdated notion of race relations, with blacks teaching whites how to loosen up, and whites bestowing political or economic power on blacks for self- serving purposes masked as charitable.

On the whole, fi lms with black political themes have been rare, and those that have fared well in the Hollywood environment are even rarer. Far more commonly, mainstream movies have featured blacks in stereotypical roles such as jokers, minstrels, sidekicks, and villains. A few black actors (such as Denzel Washington, Morgan Freeman, and Forest Whitaker) and even fewer black actresses (Whitney Houston in The Bodyguard , 1992; Halle Berry in The X- Men franchise and The Call , 2013) have transcended the constraints imposed by Hol-lywood to appear in fi lms that more or less ignore race. Hollywood’s reluctance to take risks with black- themed fi lms remains a major obstacle, and for a long time contemporary black political fi lm has seemed to refl ect the shifting sands of racial reality rather than to offer a visionary beacon.

1970s Paranoia Returns

With this history in mind it is interesting to note that a spate of early twenty- fi rst- century fi lms reprised paranoid political conspiracy thrillers of the 1970s like The Parallax View and Three Days of the Condor , fi lms with white male leads and few black characters. Among these new fi lms were Enemy of the State (1998), Bait (2000), and The Manchurian Candi-date (2004). There were two key differences between the two eras’ versions of this subgenre: this time around, African- American actors played the lead roles, and the conspiracies were driven by personal rather than institutional forces. As Roger Ebert said of Enemy of the State , “It’s not the government that is the enemy, this movie argues, so much as bureaucrats and demagogues who use the power of the government to gain their own ends and cover their own tracks.” 13 All three movies created paranoia around excessive governmental surveil-lance technology. By casting black male leads, the fi lms suggested that a black voice crying conspiracy or speaking out against government intrusion may carry greater legitimacy than a white actor trying to convey the same message. Presumably, white stars are so thoroughly identifi ed with the corruption of power and the confusion between political and Hollywood

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celebrity that it takes a black “truth teller” to achieve any credibility in the fi lm’s suspense. These fi lms also suggested that in a terror- fi lled world, Hollywood suspects that audiences would rather see a black male panic—a more familiar movie theme than white male uncer-tainty, given who for the most part holds the actual reins of national security.

The L.A. Rebellion

In the 1990s, a small cadre of black directors emerged who more or less successfully created fi lms primarily geared to black audiences and/or art house theaters. Although the audience for these fi lms is quite small, these directors may become more infl uential in the coming years; a few of them have earned a circle of attention wider than their box offi ce appeal. Julie Dash attracted a loyal and enthusiastic following for her 1991 landmark work, Daughters of the Dust , which the Library of Congress entered into the National Film Registry in 2004. The fi rst female African- American director with a fi lm in general theatrical release, Dash fi rst drew acclaim for a short fi lm about race in Hollywood during World War II, called Illu-sions (1983). About a black woman passing as white to work in a fi lm studio and another black woman brought in to dub the singing of a white star, Illusions was fi lmed in black- and- white and addresses the illusions Hollywood fi lms create around race and gender.

Daughters of the Dust is set on the Sea Islands off the South Carolina–Georgia coast in 1902. Isolated from the continent, the Gullah people speak their own English–West African dialect called Geechee and maintain ancient African rituals, customs, and beliefs. When the fi lm opens, the extended Peazant family has made the diffi cult decision to migrate to the mainland. Over the course of a celebratory yet ritualistic picnic the day before departure, generational confl icts arise. Family matriarch Nana Peazant, the one most in touch with the

Included in the National Film Registry and the fi rst feature in general theatrical release directed by a black woman, Daughters of the Dust (1991) takes place on an island off the shore of South Carolina in the early 1900s.

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clan’s Yoruba roots, still practices spiritually imbued magic. She fears the loss of those tra-ditions. Close viewing reveals that Nana is actually a ghost, having died before the family decided to move.

Daughter Viola brings Nana’s passion for African spiritualism to her Baptist faith, while Hagaar looks down her nose at Nana’s sacred African heritage, calling it so much “hoo- doo.” Yellow Mary is the family’s black sheep, and Nana’s granddaughter, Eula, is expecting a child her husband fears is not his but a white rapist’s. Narrated by the in utero child, their stories unfold in an elliptical fashion along the shoreline and in the woods among Yoruba icons and art. Pale, elaborately laced dresses refl ect the sun and sand, as rhythmic editing creates a mesmerizing effect. Eschewing clear plot, linear progression, and other melodrama genre conventions, Daughters of the Dust is diffi cult for some viewers to follow, but even a casual viewing is rewarded by Dash’s vivid evocation of place and time and of how a people endured slavery to preserve memory and heritage.

Ethiopian- born Haile Gerima directed Sankofa (1993), which explores the violent past of the African slave trade as a means of making a political point about the present. ( Sankofa is an African word meaning “We must go back and reclaim our past so we can move forward, so we understand why and how we came to be who we are today.”) 14 In the fi lm, Mona, a black model (played by Oyafunmike Ogunlano), fi nds herself reliving the past as a slave named Shala and participating in a slave revolt on an American plantation. Ultimately, Mona/Shala returns to the present profoundly changed by her experience. The New York Times noted that “ Sankofa asks its audience to enter a different moral universe, one that slavery created.” 15 Although shown almost exclusively in cinemas in black neighborhoods, Sankofa turned a handsome profi t and demonstrated that a market exists for political black- themed fi lms.

Dash and Gerima hail from a 1960s–1980s fi lmmaking movement called the “L.A. Rebellion.” Following political upheaval like the Los Angeles Watts uprising and Vietnam War protests, these UCLA students rejected Hollywood stereotyping, formulaic plots, and the kind of reductionist visions of African- American life found in the era’s blaxploitation movies. Infl uenced by “Rebellion” fi lms like Charles Burnett’s celebrated art house Killer of Sheep (1979), about an alienated man working in a slaughterhouse, other black fi lmmakers tried a more commercial style to tell their stories. Kasi Lemmons made her screenwriting and directorial debut with the independently fi nanced Eve’s Bayou , called the best fi lm of 1997 by Roger Ebert.

Set in 1962 in a Louisiana bayou named after a slave, the fi lm features no white char-acters, and its black characters never appear working the fi elds, wiping sweaty brows, or marching in political protests. In her pitches for studio support, executives asked Lemmons to include at least one white character, even a racist, but Lemmons stood fi rm. Her story was a family romance between a charismatic country doctor, Louis Batiste (Samuel Jackson), his elegant wife, Roz—“men fought to say her name,” says Louis—his spiritual medium sister, Mozelle, and his two daughters, Cicely and Eve (Jurnee Smollett- Bell), and Lemmons was determined to keep it as she wrote it. Louis’s female patients love him, and he loves play-ing their hero. One night, ten- year- old daughter Eve witnesses him with a woman not her mother, and the shocking sight triggers the events that unfold over what she calls “the sum-mer I killed my father.”

Eve’s Bayou is an evocative fi lm about memory and images “printed indelibly on the brain,” as Eve says in voice- over. The political value of the fi lm is its refusal to bow to stereotype or to put its characters in any framework larger than the melodrama of their own

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lives. In fact, Eve and Mozelle, in a stand- out performance by Debbi Morgan, are so far from being used as props that key story details unspool not only from their perspective of events but from the interior of their minds. In other words, they are so fully realized that we see with them many images and events they only imagine or access in dreams and visions. With its spreading jewel- green lawns, raw silk dresses, glass bead necklaces, and gleaming champagne fl utes, Eve’s Bayou ’s mise- en- scène refl ects the infl uence of the unique beauty of Daughters of the Dust . Like that fi lm, a surprising and subtle glamour upends any precon-ceptions based on time period and setting. Culturally rich and politically subtle, both fi lms make the salient point that in their respective time periods, there was much more to African- American life than routinely represented in mainstream fi lms.

In 2007, Lemmons directed the more politically responsive Talk to Me , starring Don Cheadle as real- life ex- con, community activist, and radio talk- show host Ralph “Petey” Greene. Unlike the private world of the Batistes, Greene’s life is almost entirely framed by the social upheaval and political turbulence of the 1960s. Having bluffed his way into an on- air job with a personal code of “Keep it real,” Greene rises to the horrifi c occasion of Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination. Over the Washington, DC, airwaves, Greene speaks in a heartfelt way about the senselessness of violence to those bent on revenge. He does not preach, and he is not at peace with the tragedy, but his voice helps calm the street. King’s death becomes the transformative moment of Greene’s life. While hardly blockbusters, both Eve’s Bayou and Talk to Me enjoyed respectably wide releases and earned high praise for Lemmons’s uncompromising yet accessible direction. Lemmons’s next fi lm, Black Nativ-ity (2013), was a musical starring Forest Whitaker, Angela Bassett, and Jennifer Hudson, based on the libretto “Wasn’t It a Mighty Fine Day?” by Harlem Renaissance poet Langston Hughes. An evangelical tale about birth and rebirth, as the title suggests, Black Nativity openly laments the gap between haves and have- nots, yet failed to gross $10 million at the box offi ce.

Box Offi ce Breakthroughs

The most widely viewed American black directors of the day are probably Lee Daniels and Tyler Perry. Daniels’s work is the more overtly political. A compelling mash- up of genres and visual styles, his independent fi lm Precious (2009) was a box offi ce hit, earning back fi ve times the cost of its production and becoming the fi rst black- helmed fi lm nominated for the Best Picture Academy Award. While it did not score that trophy, it did scoop up numer-ous other high- profi le awards, including the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for Mo’Nique, a comedian known for routines that celebrate, contrary to their “Mammy” stereotyping, the sexual independence and personal intensity of large- bodied black women. Precious ’s screening at the Cannes Film Festival in France received a fi fteen- minute standing ovation.

Based on the novel Push by a young writer named Sapphire, Precious tells the story of an obese, illiterate, black teenager who is sexually abused by her father and twice made preg-nant by him, emotionally and physically abused by her mother, Mary, and thought worthless by almost everyone else. Precious’s life is a horror show escaped only in daydreams. When she encounters a caring teacher named Miss Blu Rain and a social worker played with sober tenderness by singer Mariah Carey, she learns to read and write. Little by little, her life begins to change despite her mother’s unremitting need to kill her spirit and suck her into Mary’s own dead- end lifestyle of nonstop television and fraudulent welfare- dependence.

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The women Precious encounters solely because government programs and institutions con-nect her to them offset Mary’s cruelty. Taking place in the late 1980s, Precious stands as a rebuke to that era’s antigovernment ideology personifi ed by President Reagan. Politically, Precious reminds viewers that public programs can make the difference between a life of abject misery and one of productive hopefulness. As critic A.O. Scott notes, “Government can provide not only a safety net, but also, in small and consequential ways, a lifeline.” 16

The fi lm sparked controversy, especially among African- American audiences. Accus-tomed to reverential depictions of black mothers even in misogynistic rap videos, some viewers took offense at Mary. One reviewer compared the fi lm to The Birth of a Nation for its denigrating depiction of black American life and criticized it for peddling a debased view of black fatherhood to a larger culture already all too eager to buy it. “Black pathology sells,” charged fi lm critic Armond White. “It’s an over- the- top political fantasy that works only because it demeans blacks, women and poor people.” 17 In an article titled “The Audac-ity of ‘Precious’” after Barack Obama’s political book The Audacity of Hope , even Daniels hesitated over the dirty laundry aired:

“Obama’s the president, and we want to aspire to that. But part of aspiring is disassociating from the face of Precious. To be honest, I was embarrassed to show this movie at Cannes. I didn’t want to exploit black people. And I wasn’t sure I wanted white French people to see our world. But because of Obama, it’s now O.K. to be black. I can share that voice. I don’t have to lie. I’m proud of where I come from. And I wear it like a shield. ‘Precious’ is part of that.” 18

Thus, in addition to its message about the necessity of government “lifelines,” Precious invokes a complex array of racial prejudices. It asks viewers to identify with someone

Gabourey Sidibe plays the title character in Precious (2009), a fi lm that sparked debate over its portrayal of a 1980s urban black community and Precious, seen here eating fried chicken, a familiar racist caricature.

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considered a pariah even by those most expected to cherish her, and it displays a family rejected by its presumed community. As Daniels admits and the polarized reaction to Pre-cious proves, even in the twenty- fi rst century the line between representing and exploiting black characters in popular fi lm remains diffi cult to navigate.

Daniels also directed the Obama- era box offi ce hit, Lee Daniels’ The Butler (2013), with a script by Game Change (2012) writer Danny Strong. Like Lemmons’s thematic shift from private drama to factual history, The Butler is a more obviously political fi lm than Precious . Its poster announces its agenda by centering on a white background a man’s silhouette fi lled in with the stars and stripes of the American fl ag. The prominently featured tagline reads, “One quiet voice can ignite a revolution.” That voice belongs to Cecil Gaines, a character based on the real- life Eugene Allen, who rose from the brutal cotton fi elds of 1920s Georgia to the White House, where he personally served seven presidents, from Eisenhower to Rea-gan, bearing stoic witness to the political and social turmoil that defi ned the second half of the twentieth century.

Forest Whitaker leads a cast that reads like a who’s who of Hollywood. Highlights include Oprah Winfrey as wife Gloria, John Cusack as Richard Nixon, Jane Fonda as Nancy Reagan, Terrence Howard as the neighborhood lothario, and Oscar- winner Cuba Gooding Jr. as a fellow butler so close to Cecil’s family that Cecil’s two sons call him “Uncle.” Released on a summer bill of apocalyptic would- be blockbusters and comic- book superhero tales, Lee Daniels’ The Butler topped the charts with an intimate portrayal of American history from the unexpectedly privileged vantage point of the least powerful of political players. Its debut coincided with the commemoration of the fi fty- year anniversary of the civil rights move-ment’s “March on Washington” when Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his “I Have a Dream” speech, and the fi lm’s masterful interlacing of presidential policies with public protest and private experience brought President Obama to tears.

While it may be that Americans fl ocked to see a black man back in the accommodat-ing, long- suffering role of servant, The Butler , says A.O. Scott, “unlike almost every other movie about race in America, is not primarily about the moral awakening of white people.” 19 Rather, the fi lm belongs to Cecil, his slow awakening to what it really means to bear two faces through life, one for the people he serves with barely a whisper and one for family and coworkers.

Generational confl ict between Cecil, who learns early that “the room should feel empty when you’re in it,” and his activist son Louis drives the story. When Cecil advances to the position of White House butler, President Eisenhower announces federal enforcement of desegregation laws. The dovetailing of Cecil’s good fortune with improved public policy justifi es to Cecil his faith in progress without activism. Cecil brings out the better natures of the men he serves. President Kennedy tells Cecil he personally has changed the president’s heart on civil rights, and in a confession to the butler, anti-affi rmative action president Ron-ald Reagan wonders if on that issue he is simply wrong. Louis, however, disparages Cecil’s wait- and- see attitude and insists on pushing for full recognition of his rights. Cecil serves decanted aperitifs and dinners on gold- rimmed porcelain to dignitaries while Louis takes part in lunch counter sit- ins and Freedom Rides. The rift between them appears irrevocable.

In grainy stock footage and parallel editing, the fi lm’s structure honors both points of view until fi nally each man fi nds his way back to the other, emotionally and politically. On the way to this reconciliation, Cecil fi nally lives up to his promise to Gloria to take her to the White House when the Reagans invite them to a state dinner. Gloria shines while Cecil feels

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unaccountably defl ated. In voice- over he admits he would rather be there “for real” and not just “for show.” An ironic version of Cecil’s two faces, The Butler ’s Reagan is personally kind and fair but politically harsh. He has the power to bring his personal generosity to pub-lic effect and refuses. Cecil lacks such luxury of choice. Realizing that imbalance, he begins to reconsider his son’s perspective even as Louis abandons the Black Panthers’ militancy to run for Congress. The end arrives in Cecil’s excitement over Obama’s election- day triumph, a moment Louis also savors. In this resolution of personal and public grievances, the fi lm suggests protest is crucial but real political power accrues through the ballot box. This mes-sage was overshadowed by the divisive 2013 Supreme Court’s invalidation of parts of the Voting Rights Act a few months before the fi lm’s debut, a coincidence that may also have played a part in the fi lm’s popularity.

2013: Year of Black- Themed Movies

A smaller yet more pointedly political fi lm based on real events also opened in the summer of 2013. The fi rst feature from writer and director Ryan Coogler, Fruitvale Station concerns the 2008 police shooting of an unarmed young black man in a commuter train station of the same name in Oakland, California. It begins with news footage of the crime before segueing to a bare- bones dramatization of Oscar Grant’s fateful day. Played with masterful ease by Michael B. Jordan, Oscar is a well- meaning and likable man with a daughter in preschool and a Latina girlfriend named Sophina, the mother of his daughter, whom he means to marry. Haunted by a stint in prison, Oscar also must contend with his hair- trigger temper and the loss of his job at a grocery store. New Year’s Eve fi nds Oscar celebrating his mother’s birth-day with a crab feast and the holiday with a trip via public transportation into San Francisco to see the fi reworks.

The small family party preceding the public outing shows the indirect way this fi lm addresses Oscar’s racial identity. Watching football on the television, one of Oscar’s rela-tives declares he likes the Pittsburgh Steelers because they wear black uniforms and have a black coach who even has a black wife. Everyone laughs. Instructed by his sister not to get their mother a corny birthday card with a white family on it, as a joke, Oscar does just that. As with his cross- racial relationship with Sophina and his casual encounters with white people—the grocery store customer he tutors in cooking fi sh, a man whose pregnant wife he assists in fi nding a restroom while the two men talk about romantic commitment—these subtle references suggest that in Oscar’s daily life, racial identity is both profoundly funda-mental and occasionally incidental.

Hours before his death, Oscar runs into the street to comfort a dog hit by a car. Later Sophina presents him with a fresh black T- shirt to replace the white one bloodied by the dying hound, a foreshadowing of his own fate. Usually a harbinger of a character’s death or guilt, a black shirt in this instance also registers racially in the context of the comment equat-ing Steelers’ uniforms with blackness. Oscar’s black skin, his black shirt, and the tattoo on his back all subtly signal the always, already guilty condition that renders him vulnerable to sudden death through no fault of his own. To the law, he is his appearance or racial profi le. Appearing as a young black man in a state where African- American men are dramatically more likely to be imprisoned than are other groups proves deadly.

The fi lm plays on the audience’s prejudices about race when, for example, a man carrying a concealed object and wearing a dark hoodie boards the train just behind Oscar, Sophina,

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and their friends. This fi gure unnerves viewers until he pulls back his hood to reveal blond hair and then unveils music speakers to get an impromptu party started. On the ride home, a white bully from Oscar’s prison time, and the only man besides the police called “nig-ger,” starts a fi ght. Otherwise, every male in this fi lm is called “bruh” suggesting that Oscar reserves one of the most offensive and problematic epithets in American vernacular for men defi ned not by their skin color but by their propensity to violence. The police single out Oscar and his friends and shove them against the station wall. The rougher the police, the more incensed are the watching passengers until they pull out phones to record what they witness. Oscar loudly protests the brutal police treatment, but he is unarmed and on his stom-ach when an offi cer shoots and kills him.

With the exception of a single fl ashback, Fruitvale Station takes place over one day and rarely strays from medium or close- up shots on one or two characters, with Oscar never far from view. The intimate, nearly claustrophobic relationship between the camera and Oscar’s body underscores his physical and racial vulnerability. Made real to viewers in unadorned cinematic language, Oscar is no techno- bodied hero from one of the apocalyptic blockbust-ers that dominated the box offi ce in summer 2013, no Robert Downey Jr. in Iron Man or Matt Damon in Elysium . Nor does the compelling Michael B. Jordan yet emit the high- wattage star power of a Ben Affl eck or Will Smith. Simply constructed to reach its devastating con-clusion, an ending we have already seen in the fi lm’s opening but nonetheless hope will somehow be avoided, Fruitvale Station deeply humanizes Oscar as few of today’s fi lms do for any character, much less black characters. Our familiarity with Oscar breeds sympathy for him, and his very ordinariness packs a subversive punch—particularly in the context of the 2013 trial of George Zimmerman for killing black, unarmed, hoodie- wearing teenager Trayvon Martin in Florida as well as a judge’s ruling that same spring that New York Police Department stop- and- frisk policies violated minorities’ civil rights. Fruitvale Station reveals how a cultural norm of suspicion based on race costs the lives of men guilty of nothing more than being seen as black.

Passengers sharing public transport use cellphones to turn a collective, resistant eye on the murder of Oscar Grant by fascistic transit cops in Fruitvale Station (2013).

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The fi lm’s political message goes further by largely exonerating the white people Oscar encounters throughout his day. Their openness to his easygoing warmth puts them on his side and against the alien invading force of the police. Before the fi ght breaks out, the train is a scene fi rst of public comity and then of utopia as people from different backgrounds all dance, sing, and kiss in honor of the holiday. Hollywood usually celebrates the individual-ism of car ownership, with chauffeured limousines seen as the height of glamour. Idealizing public transit instead is therefore a politically important choice. When passengers begin using their cell phones to record the excessive police response, Fruitvale Station inverts and co- opts police surveillance by transforming the train’s utopian common space into an all- seeing public eye, seizing and turning back the gaze of accountability and power normally reserved for sanctioned legal authorities, the police themselves. The passengers’ monitoring of the event distinguishes their occupation of public space from the offi cers’ enforcement of the law in that space. Only their nonviolent gaze openly directed at this unexpected enemy can counter the brute force that the police exert. Thus the fi lm politically codes the police as fascist and the public as socially responsible and politically active in the face of such unwar-ranted violence. Taxpayer- funded transportation benefi ts a public that police offi cers acting outside the law unreasonably try to control and unjustly kill.

If 2012 was the year of the political fi lm, 2013 was the year of black- themed fi lms. (In 2012 major Hollywood studios put into wide release only one fi lm by a black director with a black cast, the profi table music- drama remake Sparkle , about three sisters in a 1960s girl group and the strain of fame on family ties.) 42 and 12 Years a Slave continued 2013’s run of politically resonant movies based on the lives of African- American men. A biopic of Jackie Robinson, the legendary baseball player and breaker of racial barriers, 42 (2013) earned back more than double its production costs. Part hero worship, part political history, 42 emphasizes Robinson’s unique skills on and off the fi eld that made him the perfect fi rst black athlete to play for a professional national team, the Brooklyn Dodgers, in 1947 and to face head- on the violent racist reaction his popular profi le spurred. Illustrating the racial hatred deeply imbedded in both Jim Crow laws and widely held cultural norms, 42 unsurprisingly condemns racism while emphasizing just how extraordinary Robinson had to be to pioneer desegregation of the nation’s pastime, a key stepping- stone to wider political change. Team-mate Pee Wee Reese’s public embrace of Robinson forms the fi lm’s emotional peak, yet 42 does not follow in the sports fi lm tradition of The Legend of Bagger Vance (2000), in which a superior black athlete sacrifi ces his ambition to further the goals of a white hero. And unlike The Blind Side ’s (2009) true- life story about a white family taking in a destitute young black man and nurturing his talent all the way to the NFL, no one matters more to his success than Robinson himself.

In a year rife with stellar performances in black, character- driven fi lms, 2013 Oscar talk zeroed in on English actor Idris Elba’s performance in the English–South African fi lm, Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom , about South African political prisoner turned president, Nelson Mandela. Buzz also favored Forest Whitaker in Lee Daniels’ The Butler , charismatic talent Michael B. Jordan in the smaller- scaled Fruitvale Station , and the eventual winner Chiwetel Ejiofor (the actor who played Petey Greene’s manager, Dewey Hughes, in Talk to Me ) for his performance in the profoundly affecting box offi ce hit 12 Years a Slave (2013).

12 Years a Slave recounts the true story of Solomon Northup, a free black man living in upstate New York in 1841, who on a trip to Washington, DC, is captured and enslaved in the Deep South. Besides using Northup’s own memoir, American screenwriter John Ridley and

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English director Steve McQueen also consulted the infl uential African- American historian Henry Louis Gates Jr. for help portraying the facts of slavery with unfl inching exactitude. One day a contented family man and violinist and the next brutally beaten and controlled, Northup’s fresh hell provides a sustained view of slavery rarely witnessed in Hollywood movies. Long takes reinforce the fi lm’s unswerving focus on Northup, forcing audiences to feel every fl icker of Ejiofor’s suppressed emotion and making it impossible not to loathe vicious slave owner Edwin Epps (played by Michael Fassbender) and his despicable wife, Mary Epps (Sarah Paulson). 12 Years a Slave won the prestigious Toronto International Film Festival audience award and the Golden Globe for Best Motion Picture, Drama.

Even superstar Brad Pitt as a compassionate Canadian abolitionist cannot steal scenes from Ejiofor. Also one of the fi lm’s producers, Pitt testifi ed to the fi lm’s cultural signifi cance

12 Years a Slave (2013) stars Chiwetel Ejiofor as Solomon Northrup, a freed black man living in upstate New York, captured and sold into slavery in the antebellum South.

Lupita Nyong’o won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar playing the strong, vivacious, yet brutalized Patsy in 12 Years a Slave (2013).

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and the artistic reward of making it: “If I never get to participate in a fi lm after it, this is it for me.” 20 Kenyan actress Lupita Nyong’o also delivered a standout Oscar-winning perfor-mance as Patsy, a plantation slave who demonstrates strength despite the crushing suffering she endures. Nyong’o and Ejiofor joined the growing number of international actors nabbing top billing in some of Hollywood’s most prominent fi lms—Christopher Waltz in Django Unchained (2012), Jean Dujardin in Monuments Men (2013), Charlie Hunnam in Pacifi c Rim (2013), Sharlto Copley in Elysium (2013)—a trend that refl ects the growing revenue Hollywood draws from abroad.

That this casting trend extends to the recent mini- Renaissance of fi lms by and about African- Americans points to a telling shift in Hollywood’s calculations. As one Hollywood observer noted, “Movies that feature a predominantly black cast in a specifi cally African- American story have been caught in a squeeze between foreign markets, where those fi lms often come up short, and demographic pressures at home.” 21 With the post- 2008 drop- off in DVD sales, the international market has become more important than ever to the industry. This changing business model has the potential to leave the specifi city of African- American- based stories (and American politics) in the cold. As we have seen, the industry historically has cast a skeptical eye at both black fi lms and overtly political fi lms, making the com-bination of the two even less probable. Yet rather than collapsing in that “squeeze,” the increasing number of fi lms made in both genres and the embrace of foreign actors in fi lms like 12 Years a Slave point to something other than business as usual. Today’s Hollywood appears to be willing to stake a claim to the potential profi tability of casting black fi lms for foreign distribution. Domestic markets, too, are rewarding the gamble and embracing these fi lms with a growing multicultural appetite not obvious even a decade ago.

Today’s mainstream black fi lms include a range of settings and themes that heartens Kasi Lemmons: “It’s what I always wished for. I always thought it would be an indicator of success, when we had a full spectrum of fi lms.” 22 David E. Talbert, writer and director of the romantic comedy Baggage Claim (2013), even compares black fi lmmaking in the early twenty- fi rst century to the Harlem Renaissance in the early twentieth, when African- American writers and musicians thrived in a culture of mutual support and opportunity. 23 Almost as remarkable are the votes that audiences are casting at the box offi ce in favor of this trend.

Notes

1. Jane Gaines, Fire and Desire: Mixed Race Movies in the Silent Era (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), p. 3.

2. James Earl Young, The Life and Work of Oscar Micheaux (San Francisco: KMT Publications, 2003).

3. Dan Leab, “Blacks in American Cinema,” in The Political Companion to American Film , ed. Gary Crowdus (Chicago: Lakeview Press, 1994), p. 46.

4. Chicago Sun- Times , December 9, 1988. 5. Washington Post , June 30, 1989. 6. New York Times , May 19, 1989. 7. “The Truth About Spike Lee and Kickstarter,” Kickstarter blog, www.kickstarter.com/blog/

the- truth- about- spike- lee- and- kickstarter- 0. 8. “Spike Lee Goes After ‘Django Unchained,’” New York Times , http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.

com/2012/12/25/spike- lee- goes- after- django- unchained/. 9. George Will, “A Nuanced Look at Race,” Boston Globe , www.boston.com/news/globe/

editorial_opinion/oped/articles/2003/11/10/a_nuanced_look_at_race/.

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10. Ibid. 11. Peter M. Bracke, review of Amistad , www.dvdfi le.com/reviews/dvdreviews/37139- amistad. 12. Stephen Holden, “Trying on Blackface in a Flirtation with Fire,” New York Times , www.nytimes.

com/movie/review?res=9C01E2D9163CF935A35753C1A9669C8B63. 13. Roger Ebert, “Enemy of the State,” www.rogerebert.com/reviews/enemy- of- the- state- 1998. 14. “Sankofa,” www.sankofa.com/haile- gerima.php. See also, “Sankofa,” http://spot.pcc.edu/

~mdembrow/sankofa.htm. 15. “Sankofa,” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=9500EFDA173EF93BA3575

7C0A962958260. 16. A.O. Scott, “Lee Daniels Gives Us Howls of a Life, Buried Deep Within,” New York Times , http://

movies.nytimes.com/2009/11/06/movies/06precious.html. 17. Ibid. 18. “The Audacity of ‘Precious,’ New York Times Magazine , www.nytimes.com/2009/10/25/magazine/

25precious- t.html?pagewanted=all. 19. “Black Man, White House, and History,” New York Times , http://movies.nytimes.com/2013/08/16/

movies/lee- daniels- the- butler- stars- forest- whitaker.html?pagewanted=all. 20. “A Portrait of Evil,” New York Times , http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/09/07/a- portrait-

of- evil- in- 12- years- a- slave/?_r=0. 21. “Coming Soon—A Breakout Year for Black Films,” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/

2013/06/02/movies/coming- soon- a- breakout- for- black- fi lmmakers.html?pagewanted=all. 22. Ibid. 23. Ibid.

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Women, Politics, and Film All About Eve?

The Contender (2000)

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To consider the role of women and politics in American fi lm requires an expanded defi nition of what we mean by “political” because, historically, fi lms expressly about the political pro-cess or government institutions rarely feature signifi cant women characters. In most overtly (“pure”) political fi lms, women tend to melt into the background of a supporting role. They perform the cliché “behind every great man stands a woman.” In general, their minimal importance in overtly political fi lms speaks to women’s political and economic subordina-tion in a patriarchal society. In particular, it speaks to men’s dominance in an industry as fi nancially profi table as fi lmmaking.

Yet it would be a mistake to assume that the dearth of important female roles in pure political fi lms means that women are irrelevant to these movies. Despite their subordinate role and in some ways because of it, women are inseparable from any history of fi lm, includ-ing any account of the intersection between politics and movies.

To begin with, it is worth noting generally that women have played more substantial, wide- ranging roles throughout the fi lm industry than is commonly recognized. As recent revisionist accounts document, many female directors, writers, and producers enjoyed vibrant careers before the 1930s and the advent of the rigidly controlled studio system of fi lm production. The Turner Classic Movies series A Salute to Women Film Pioneers, the biography Without Lying Down: Frances Marion and the Powerful Women of Early Hol-lywood , and the online Women Film Pioneers Project have begun to resurrect fi gures like Marion, once Hollywood’s highest- paid screenwriter, and directors like Alice Guy Blaché, Nell Shipman, Helen Gardner, Dorothy Davenport Reid, and Lois Weber. Attention to their careers and salvaged “lost” fi lms reveals that from the beginning of feature fi lmmaking, women were forging an American cinematic legacy behind as well as in front of the camera. Before the fi lm industry became big business, when the atmosphere was still “relatively egalitarian,” women were involved in nearly every dimension of its operation. They worked as costume designers, readers, script girls, fi lm cutters, editors, producers, set designers, and casting directors. They founded and managed their own production companies and directed fi lms they wrote. In fact, from 1910 through the 1930s nearly 25 percent of the screenwrit-ers in Hollywood were women, and women wrote half of all the fi lms copyrighted between 1911 and 1925. 1

For the topic of women and politics in American fi lm, the signifi cance of this unearthed record affects our understanding of trends like the following: between 1910 and 1923 fi ve separate versions of Salome were produced, and between 1917 and 1934 three versions of Cleopatra found their way to the screen. As early politically relevant fi lms go, these stories stand out for dramatizing the myths and facts of two notorious yet mighty women at a time when the acceptability of women in American public places, from city streets to city hall, was undergoing epic change. Both stories show women exerting political power: Cleopatra is queen of Egypt, entangled in alliances partly romantic and partly political, while biblical Salome dances for King Herod in order that he do her bidding and behead John the Baptist, the wish of Salome’s mother, the new queen. That these fi lms equate female power unde-niably political in its effect with sexual allure and also proved popular enough to support several remakes refl ects widespread interest in and fear of women’s shifting social, eco-nomic, and ultimately political place in American life during the fi rst part of the twentieth century. They also point to a pattern consistent in Hollywood history: women on screen almost always represent sex, especially as viewed from a heterosexual perspective in the context of what Stephen Heath calls “the production of a commodity ‘sexuality.’” 2 Whether

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they are queen or empowered to behead a man simply by dancing, their signifi cance almost always depends on expressions of sexuality produced for masculine consumption. Given the prominence of women in the industry during these years and their imminent eclipse from the scene, the recurrence of these stories may also hint at male attitudes toward women working in the industry itself.

At the same time, from about 1915 through the mid- 1920s, director Lois Weber made fi lms on political subjects like capital punishment and governmental corruption as well as on gender- related topics such as birth control, prostitution, promiscuity, and abortion. Her mor-alizing fi lms, unique in both form and content, tackled in more contemporary and transparent terms the sorts of issues that lay beneath the surface of the popularity of the historical dramas Salome and Cleopatra . Her work also sparked more controversy. In the pre- Production Code days of her career, her movies prompted censorship hearings with the police shutting several of them down, events that only furthered her commercial success.

The more lucrative the movie business proved to be, however, the less able were women like Weber to maintain their stake in it. After all, women did not even have the right to vote until 1920, by which time Hollywood was on its way to becoming a virtual monopoly controlled by the executives of the top eight studios, none of them women. As a result, women’s choices of fi lm topics, like those important to Weber, ceased to have an advocate. The groundbreaking infl uence of these pioneers was subsequently erased from the archives when their fi lms were lost or credited to other, usually male, directors. Such was the fate of Guy Blaché, who spent years of her life trying to set the record straight on her early fi lm accomplishments. Only now, some fi fty years after her unmarked death in Mahwah, New Jersey, is she recognized as an innovative director and probably the fi rst ever to make a fi c-tional narrative fi lm. 3

Additionally, it is easy to see that despite the neglect of offi cial fi lm histories, women are everywhere in fi lms, even when they have not exerted any direct control over their

Theda Bara appeared as Cleopatra (1917), a fi lm that exists only in fragments.

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production. Given women’s relative lack of political and economic status and their minimal impact on the actual production of fi lms, we must look to the politics of the image and our typology’s “socially refl ective” fi lms to understand the signifi cance of women within the topic of fi lm and politics. That is, until the contemporary period, the political signifi cance of women and fi lm lies primarily in the images of women that fi lms have generated as those images reinforce or challenge the prevailing social order, and fulfi ll stereotypes or transcend them.

The following survey of the changing image of woman in American fi lm looks at how mainstream movies refl ect and shape values and attitudes about women. The list of fi lms and defi ning images is highly selective, some might say idiosyncratically so, and of course incomplete. Moreover, the broad phrase “image of woman” usually refers to white, middle- and upper- class women—the fi ctional ideal Hollywood most often projects on screen.

Early Cinema

Precinematic inventions like Thomas Edison’s Kinetoscope offered Americans their fi rst glimpse of independently moving images. What did customers see when they stuck their noses into the soundless wooden cabinets? A man comically sneezing, a strongman fl exing his muscles, boxers duking it out in a ring. Other favorite subjects befi tting the peep- show quality of the single- viewer machines were women performing exotic dances, women scant-ily clad, women doing a partial striptease.

As this list suggests, many of the early fi lms showed quotidian events: in What Hap-pened on Twenty- Third Street (1902), a young woman on a busy street walks over a subway grate and must straighten out her billowing skirt. As that seemingly mundane example also implies, these early moving images expressed a theme of gender difference: women per-forming in sexually charged situations for an audience perceived as predominantly male. Though women themselves patronized the Kinetoscope arcades and later the Nickelodeon theaters, many notable early fi lms featuring women obviously anticipated men as their cus-tomers and screened voyeuristic images of women accordingly. Films like Pull Down the Curtains, Suzie (1904) openly invoked the gender divide implicit in the anonymous viewer (voyeuristic) setting of this new entertainment: as Suzie leaves her companion to go into her room to change, he watches her disrobe from the street below her window.

By 1920, the silent movies had expanded in length to dramatize stories with characters and plot. At the same time, women were agitating for the right to vote and urban Amer-ica was expanding as a site of industry, consumerism, and immigration both foreign and domestic, as people from the country moved to the cities for work. The movies refl ected and infl uenced this time of potential political chaos when staid nineteenth- century Victorian values and agrarian lifestyles gave way to modernity and what writer F. Scott Fitzgerald so famously dubbed the “Jazz Age.”

The New Woman

This era’s movies represent the shift away from an ideal of femininity as maternal, reli-giously pious, and submissive—the type of woman promoted in D.W. Griffi th movies like The Birth of a Nation (1915) and Way Down East (1920). In those movies, women protected their chastity at all cost, wore long heavy skirts, swept fl oors, prepared meals, prayed, and

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did not do much else. The Birth of a Nation even equates America’s national identity with the virginity and racial purity of a white female character by requiring she kill herself rather than risk being raped by a renegade black soldier, then pinning her self- sacrifi ce to the “birthed” nation’s new order of racial segregation.

By 1920, the New Woman had arrived on screen. Popularized at the end of the previous century, the term “New Woman” referred to educated, ambitious women weary of their circumscribed place in society, namely the home. The New Woman advocated political and social emancipation for women, smoked in public, and wore less cumbersome clothing—baring her arms and knees!—as she forayed into the city to shop and, increasingly, to work and live. Her Honor The Governor (1926) is a rare overtly political fi lm that addresses, if only half- heartedly, the New Woman’s sociopolitical advances in the character of Adele Fenway, loosely based on an actual woman governor of Texas, Miriam “Ma” Ferguson. Variety called it a “melodrama of love and politics with a woman Governor placed in the spot where the old man usually was.” 4 When Governor Fenway crosses a man sworn to dis-lodge her, he retaliates with a rumor campaign that brands Adele’s son a bastard and Adele an unwed mother. Upon her impeachment, her son fi ghts for her honor, leading Photoplay to declare it a fi lm about “mother love.” 5 In the more commonly found socially refl ective category of fi lm, the New Woman ushered three female types to the screen, as evidenced by the following popular fi lms.

The Vamp

A Fool There Was (1915) brings to life a woman so completely lacking in the Victorian vir-tues of sexual restraint and obedience to men that her very presence is poisonous. The title refers to the lead male character, a fool of a man seduced by the New Woman presented in the guise of the female archetype, the vamp—short for vampire. The heartless vamp wants money and social status and will do anything to get them. Not yet thoroughly modern in appearance, she wears tightly wrapped long dresses and has kohl- lined eyes. The vamp look is nonetheless exotic as played by Theda Bara—considered by some the fi rst true movie star—who made her career in this role. She would go on to star as both Cleopatra (1917) and Salome (1918). Bara’s entire fi lmography—including The Devil’s Daughter (1915), Sin (1915), Siren of Hell (1915), The Vixen (1916), When a Woman Sins (1918), The She Devil (1918)—telegraphs the era’s obsession with female morality.

A Fool There Was , a huge hit for the fl edgling Fox studio, dramatizes the rise and fall of the socially and politically prominent John Schuyler, newly tapped presidential envoy to England. Voyaging there without his wife and daughter, he falls prey to the unscrupulous vamp, billed in the fi lm as “The Vampire,” and so called because her surreal power to mes-merize men literally drains them of will. Her hypnotic power, carnal appetite, and unbowed attitude toward men appear as supernaturally evil. Still, what makes her emblematic of the New Woman is her explicitly sexual characterization and an unsentimental attitude suc-cinctly expressed when she receives a gift of roses: after a brief whiff, she giddily shreds them to bits. Even more New Womanish is Schuyler’s sister- in- law, who advises his wife to divorce him—a rare bit of advice for a woman to offer in those days of low divorce rates. Scenes depicting the vamp’s decadence juxtaposed with Schuyler’s rapid physical decay, a sign of his helpless addiction to her sexual favors, remain notable in a plot otherwise confus-ing for contemporary audiences to follow.

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The Femme Fatale

More than a decade later, in 1927, F.W. Murnau directed Sunrise with a similar New- Woman- as- vamp theme, this time with a twist: the vamp hails from the city and the object of her seduction is an unassuming country boy. As a representative of the new cityscape’s electric lights, tall buildings, and open- all- night atmosphere, this New Woman is more grounded in a recogniz-able reality. More hard- boiled femme fatale than demonic vampire, she completely embodies the Jazz Age style with her androgynous bobbed hair, short dresses, and aggressive sexuality. The femme fatale seduces the rube and urges him to murder his wife, sell his property, and live the high life with her in the big city. The vivid contrast between city and country scenes and Murnau’s evocative use of light and shadow make Sunrise an engaging fi lm to watch even now.

The Flapper

A more benign version of the New Woman than either the vamp or the femme fatale, the fl apper also earned plenty of screen time during this period. Fun- loving but not at all manipulative, enjoying clothes and unconventional behavior like dancing and drinking in speakeasies, the 1920s fl apper inherited her spirit from the women who came before her fl exing their political muscle. Suffragists won passage of the Nineteenth Amendment, earn-ing women the right to vote; women leaders of the temperance movement helped to ratify the Volstead Act, the prohibition on alcohol. The fl apper exploited women’s greater freedom to have a good time.

Clara Bow famously became the fi rst “It” girl, playing a fl apper in It (1927). The term “it” was code for sex appeal. The girls who had “it” were less venal than either the femme fatale or the venomous vamp yet every bit the New Woman icon. In one telling scene, the fl apper, preparing for a date, takes a modest dress, snips it here and there, adds a few decorative fl ourishes, and suddenly she’s the very picture of “it”: fashionable, free- spirited, fl irtatious, and confi dent. The fi lm was so popular that even today fi lm and style magazines use the term “it” to refer to the ineffable cachet of newly popular stars. While men and women can both have “it,” women especially wanted “it” because despite the liberties newly afforded women, from voting to drinking in mixed company, they were still primarily defi ned in rela-tion to men. They were good girls if they had fun without leading men on; they were bad girls if they had fun with more than one man at a time. The fi lms of this era (and beyond in many instances) rewarded good girls with marriage and punished bad girls by exiling them from marriage and the social circle.

From Flapper to Shop Girl to Hussy

With the stock market crash and onset of the Great Depression, the movies looked to a more somber image of women in the “social problem” fi lm, a genre that ranks high in political intent. The New Woman’s loose sexual mores and style- conscious worldliness hardened into the dreary shopgirl or mill worker down on her luck. The movies dared not offer only escapist fantasies about self- indulgent characters without risk of alienating audiences who were experiencing wrenching economic distress. The modern woman therefore could not be viewed as simply enjoying the high life as either conniving seductress or lighthearted fl apper anymore; she suffered and scraped to get by.

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With the advent of the talkies in the 1930s, the movies as we now know them came to the fore of popular mass entertainment. Many evolving genres required certain parts for women: the gangster picture’s gun moll, the musical’s chorine, the women’s picture’s self- sacrifi cing mother, the screwball comedy’s fast- talking romantic partner, the horror fi lm’s innocent victim. Not all but many of these parts were clearly incidental to the fi lm’s biggest themes. From getting her face smashed with a grapefruit by a hoodlum in the gangster clas-sic The Public Enemy (1931) to playing the love interest of both man and ape in King Kong (1933), the woman in popular Depression- era genres frequently had very little of substance to do. She reacted but she did not instigate. Films about social problems like unwed mothers, crime, and fi nancially ruined families, however, often put women at center stage, a symbol of endurance. These characters arguably stood as a rebuke to the New Woman, who thought she could carouse all she wanted, paying little heed to the consequences of her behavior.

Five notable fi lms starring Joan Crawford demonstrate this particular ideological shift regarding women’s behavior. In 1928, Crawford gave a star- making performance in the silent fi lm Our Dancing Daughters , a fi lm so popular it spawned two more featuring vir-tually the same cast: Our Modern Maidens (1929) and Our Blushing Brides (1930). The quintessential high- society fl apper role of Diana put Crawford’s chorus girl’s legs to work dancing the Charleston in breathless party scenes. After watching Diana whip off her party dress to continue dancing in her slip, one male admirer asks, “You want to take all of life, don’t you?” She responds, “Yes—all! I want to hold out my hands and catch at it.” Her big-gest dilemmas are choosing what dazzling dress to don and whether to wed her boyfriend. Marriage, she fears, would spoil her fun.

Only two years later, Crawford fi lmed the grim melodrama Paid (1930). Stripped of Diana’s glamorous wardrobe, no- expenses- spared parties, and frivolous friendships, Craw-ford plays modest shop girl Mary Turner, framed for a crime she did not commit. Freed after three years in prison, she has turned into a hard- hearted criminal bent on revenge against the men who set her up, promising, “You’re going to pay for everything I’m losing in life.” Within two years the typical Crawford part had gone from carefree clotheshorse to bitter working- class girl, who spends at least part of each fi lm in dreary smock- dresses, scrubbing fl oors and swearing to change her lot in life, not simply endure it. In Possessed (1931), she escapes dismal factory life on the arm of a rising but married political star. He keeps her in diamonds and furs but fi nds he must choose between her and his career, knowing that either a divorce or word of an affair would sink his campaign. The movie rewards her adultery when he chooses to forsake his pursuit of public offi ce to keep her. (When the Hays Production Code went into effect a few years later to regulate movie morality, this rewarded sin would not make it past the censors.)

The reversal in fortune Crawford’s characters undergo from Our Dancing Daughters to Paid and the opening of Possessed is the actual plot of the ironically titled Dance, Fools, Dance (1931). In this fi lm, Crawford plays Bonnie Jordan, a typical fl apper, wealthy and fun- loving. When her father loses his fortune in the stock market crash, Bonnie must trade her dancing togs for a reporter’s notebook to earn her own living. Life is no longer hers to simply reach out her hands and “catch at”; now the dispossessed fl apper must put those hands to work. Throughout the fi lm, Bonnie’s previous upper- class lifestyle proves use-ful to her investigative work and allows the fi lm to have it both ways: it can revel in her former high- class sensibility and display conspicuous consumption while also showing the Depression’s brutal, equalizing effect on her and people of her class. Also cast adrift by her

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father’s bankruptcy, her brother, not as lucky as Bonnie, falls hard into a world of gangland theft and murder. While investigating a crime, Bonnie discovers her brother’s plight but too late to save him. The fi lm ends when Bonnie marries a man from her old life. He appreci-ates her anew for the lessons she has learned in self- reliance. After toppling her from her socioeconomic pinnacle and dramatizing her fall, the fi lm at last rewards her for hard work and honest intent.

In 1936 Crawford starred as historical fi gure Peggy Eaton in an overtly political fi lm with the less than obviously political title The Gorgeous Hussy , inspired by but not truthful to actual events of the 1830s. In her sole appearance in a historical fi lm, Crawford received the full Metro Goldwyn Mayer (MGM) star treatment to transform her from Paid ’s hard- luck shop girl and Possessed ’s kept woman to an antebellum beauty with surprising political infl uence in President Andrew Jackson’s inner circle. The fi lm opens with Congress debating issues fundamental to the eventual secession of Southern states from the Union. The debate is framed as a question of states’ rights versus the preeminence of the U.S. Constitution. No legislator mentions slavery, and although slaves appear in the fi lm, they are presented on a par with white servants to camoufl age their actual status. After the session, a few sena-tors retire to a popular tavern owned by Peggy’s father and she joins their debate, fi rmly on the side of the constitutionalists even though the object of her affection disagrees. Senator John Randolph (Melvyn Douglas) insists he is Virginian fi rst and American second. Only John’s insistence that Peggy is too young and mercurial trumps their dispute over the Union in impeding a union of their own. He discounts her romantic overtures as quickly as he dismisses her political convictions. Spurned, she falls for the easy charms of a sailor. They quickly marry and almost as quickly he departs for sea aboard the aptly named USS Consti-tution and dies abroad.

Meanwhile Peg’s “Uncle Andy,” presidential aspirant Andrew Jackson (Lionel Barry-more), arrives in Washington with his wife, Rachel, dubbed “Andy’s Rachel.” In the minds of Washington’s elite, Rachel (Beulah Bondi) has two strikes against her. Her fi rst marriage was not offi cially ended when she married Jackson, leaving her vulnerable to charges of big-amy and adultery in the campaign against Jackson. Second, she is a “hick” from the woods of Tennessee who speaks in country dialect and enjoys smoking a clay pipe. Rachel shuns the spotlight to protect Andy from slander directed at her, but Peg is second only to Jackson in defending his beloved Rachel’s honor. Eventually he wins the disputed election through a congressional vote. Broken when Rachel dies soon after, Jackson blames the pious wives of the political class that rejected her. He turns to Peg as confi dante and social hostess—roles that Rachel should have played had she lived.

The same women snub Peg, eying with suspicion her infl uence on the president, her widowed status, and her popularity with men. Meanwhile, Peg and John Randolph fi nd each other again. This time John returns her affection and they plan to marry. When Peg shares the good news with Jackson, he declares this is the end of their friendship since Randolph is still a committed states’ rights man and she would owe her allegiance to her husband. Peg confronts John with Andy’s fears, and they separate, realizing that they cannot resolve their confl icting politics in marriage.

Despite her continued romantic feelings for Randolph, Peg marries Senator John Eaton (Franchot Tone, Crawford’s husband at the time) in order to attain respectability, but to no avail. Jackson takes the opportunity to punish the gossips he blames for Rachel’s death by fi ring most of his cabinet for ill treatment of Peg. Peg fi nally convinces both Uncle Andy and

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husband John, however, that the couple would be better off on ambassadorial assignment to Spain. In this way, the fi lm dispatches with a woman who dares to assert herself politically in the only ways available to her. In a theme running throughout overtly political Holly-wood fi lms, women viewed as sexually compromised forfeit political viability. While a rare example of a prominent woman character in the genre, The Gorgeous Hussy remains notable almost solely for that fact. Crawford is miscast as a historical fi gure, her star image better suited to contemporary fi lms. Worse, Production Code strictures made it nearly impossible even for a 1930s audience to decipher anything objectionable in Peg’s behavior. The impli-cation was that Peg was sexually active with various romantic partners but the fi lm is so reticent on this point that the veiled accusations against her register as comical. The New York Times wrote, “Miss Crawford is gorgeous, but never a hussy,” and dismisses her Peggy as a “persecuted Polyanna.” 6

The theme of social legitimacy determining a woman’s political worth appeared in a far more successful “pure” political fi lm a decade later. The Farmer’s Daughter (1947) stars Loretta Young as Katie, a young Swedish- American farm girl who winds up working in the house of political power broker and matriarch Agatha Morley and her son Glenn. They come to value Katie’s down- to- earth goodness and regard her as more than a servant. When the Morleys nominate a replacement candidate to fi ll a vacant congressional seat, Katie, knowing of the man’s unprincipled ambition, objects to their choice. At his political debut, she asks pointed questions and gets embarrassing answers, much to the Morleys’ vexation. Drawing the attention of the competing party, Katie ends up their nominee for the seat and leaves the Morley household. Her political positions are progressive but not strident. When her opponent tries to smear Katie’s reputation with the lie that she spent the night with the man who gave her a ride to town just before she joined the Morley staff, Katie does not know how to respond and runs back home. Glenn fi gures out that far from enjoying a tryst with Katie, the driver stole her money, forcing her to look for domestic work with his family. He fi nds Katie, proposes, exposes her opponent’s dirty tricks, and, with his mother, backs Katie’s candidacy. The fi lm closes on an image of Glenn sweeping Katie in his arms over the threshold of the House of Representatives.

While Crawford’s Peggy Eaton married two different men and enjoyed the romantic atten-tions of more, Katie’s behavior is scrupulously proper. Her common sense even trumps her naiveté, if not that of the plot. Through a combination of virtue and charming intelligence, Katie wins offi cially sanctioned political power in contrast with “hussy” Peg, deprived by hypocritical tongue- wagging of even tangential political infl uence. The Farmer’s Daughter was a hit, earning Young a Best Actress Academy Award and becoming a television series in the mid- 1960s. As Bosley Crowther admits, however, given the “nature of American poli-tics and the American male as shown here, it doesn’t take too much ingenuity on her part to conquer both.” 7

The Working Woman

The theme of working women recurred in many of the fi lms produced in this period and extended into the era of World War II, when women took over work on railroads and in shipyards, steel plants, and other war industries as men went to fi ght with the armed forces overseas. The government campaigned for women to work these jobs with posters display-ing “Rosie the Riveter” images of women wearing men’s uniforms and working at men’s

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jobs. One such poster featured a soldier, a sailor, and a pilot pointing to a poster of a woman worker with the caption, “Their real pin- up girl.” Another addressed openly the potential tension caused by women fi lling jobs formerly reserved for men with a picture of a woman in overalls and headscarf and a man standing protectively beside her: “I’m proud . . . my husband wants me to do my part.” 8 With this kind of propaganda, the U.S. government pro-moted women in blue- collar jobs as patriotic. Meanwhile, women moving into professional careers interested director Frank Capra. One of his overtly politically populist fi lms, the comic- melodramatic Meet John Doe (1941), prominently features a woman in the rise and fall of political innocent “John Doe.”

To win back her job from the new owner of her newspaper, columnist Ann Mitchell invents in her farewell column a politically and socioeconomically alienated man called John Doe. A stand- in for all those ruined by the Depression, John Doe pledges to kill himself by jumping from a tower on Christmas Eve in protest against “man’s inhumanity to man.” People respond to his message, and Ann, played by Capra favorite Barbara Stan-wyck, keeps her column. Soon John Doe fan clubs spring up everywhere, necessitating the hunt for a real John Doe. Ann discovers Long John Willoughby, a former baseball player turned vagabond, played by Gary Cooper, and turns him into her John Doe. All this pleases her new boss, big businessman strong- arm D.B. Norton, a fascist fi gure with his own pri-vate police squad. He is pleased, that is, until the clubs start to wield potential political infl uence beyond his control. Norton unmasks Willoughby. When Willoughby’s supporters discover his ruse, he climbs the tower to kill himself anyway, feeling powerless to stop the widespread political disillusionment his fakery caused. Meeting him there at midnight, Ann tries to stop him from jumping but faints in his arms. Willoughby confronts Norton on the tower, too, and the fi lm ends ambiguously, with Ann still unconscious and Norton still powerful, still lurking.

Important to the theme of working women, Ann Mitchell dominates the fi lm’s storyline and determines the moral development of Willoughby. From casting Willoughby as her John Doe, to writing his speeches and motivating him to believe sincerely in a cause begun only as a publicity gimmick, to crossing Norton despite all the money he has thrown her way, Ann Mitchell is the fi lm’s engine. She is the good sport, the go- to gal. Her brains and her pluck set the plot in motion. While suspenseful, the fi lm never turns into a forum on her sexual nature or questions where her political loyalties lie, and thus Ann plays more than prop to the fi lm’s male lead. That sign of female proactivity distinguishes the movie from Capra’s other political fi lms. A smart movie addressed to smart women as well as men discovering women’s competence in the world of work, Meet John Doe suggests that the absence of men from their traditional political and social roles was not all bad.

Woman in a World Gone Wrong

Barbara Stanwyck shows a different face of woman popularly on display just before, during, and immediately after World War II in the cycle of movies dubbed “fi lm noir.” A phenome-nal hit then and a staple of fi lm noir revival festivals today, Double Indemnity (1944) features Stanwyck as Phyllis Dietrichson, the quintessential femme fatale of 1940s fi lm noir. A vamp in the tradition of A Fool There Was and Sunrise , Dietrichson meets life insurance salesman Walter Neff, played by Fred MacMurray. Clad in nothing but a towel and an ankle bracelet, she seduces him. Like all femmes fatale, Phyllis resents her marriage and convinces Walter

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that she is her husband’s victim, saying, “He keeps me on a leash so tight I can’t breathe.” Under the spell of her close- fi tting sweaters and gardenia perfume, Neff agrees to murder her husband and help her reap the insurance money.

As if they were romantic partners in a 1930s screwball comedy, Phyllis and Walter match wits verbally, but the subtext to their banter is not just sex but the genre’s theme of social alienation. The fi lm’s screenwriter and noir novelist, Raymond Chandler, describes the noir attitude as acknowledgment of a world gone wrong, “a world in which long before the atom bomb, civilization had created the machinery for its own destruction and was learning to use it with all the moronic delight of a gangster trying out his fi rst machine gun. The law was something to be manipulated for profi t and power. The streets were dark with something more than night.” 9

Through lies and double crosses, the doomed lovers meet in director Billy Wilder’s famous climax. Filmed in the noir style of extreme light and dark, the fi lm’s penultimate scene positions Phyllis as the center of a web cast by the room’s shadows and the lines of her blouse. Still unique in fi lm up to that time, Phyllis, acting the man’s part, pulls a gun from her dress and shoots Walter. In a romantic clutch with him, she admits she never loved him or anybody else. He kills her before hobbling back to the insurance offi ce to confess his crimes, a futile but ennobling act when compared with Phyllis’s cold admission.

Duplicitous and castrating, Phyllis epitomizes the self- serving noir woman. Neff laments, “I killed him for money and for a woman. I didn’t get the money . . . and I didn’t get the woman.” But in noir the spider woman derives no pleasure from her wicked ways either. Phyllis is not only antiromantic and greedy in this world gone wrong; she is something even worse in Hollywood’s eyes: she is antifamily. Avaricious to the core, she puts no one’s needs above her own. Her selfi shness extends to her stepdaughter, Lola. While seducing Neff, Phyllis is also seeing Lola’s boyfriend behind her back, the ultimate in maternal treachery.

The cautionary tale of the noir femme fatale warns against women assuming greater agency through work on the assembly line or in the offi ce by equating their empowerment in real life with the destruction of the prewar family in movies. Film noir anxiety caused by working women is most pronounced in Laura (1944) and Mildred Pierce (1945). Both title characters conquer commercially—Laura in advertising, Mildred in the restaurant business—but falter emotionally, with Laura falling for a cad and Mildred Pierce failing as a mother. Like Phyllis, these characters upend traditional expectations that women know their own heart, instinctively care for their children, and put their husbands fi rst. The entire genre’s cynicism expresses tacit nostalgia for a time when everyone knew where a woman could be found: in the home, with the children, out of sexual and economic circulation.

Woman on the Verge

By the 1950s, the masculinity- challenging, home- wrecking, noir femme fatale lost momen-tum on screen. With men back at home and on the job in postwar America, certain strands of Hollywood ideology suggested that women should resume their part as nurturing and faith-ful. Femininity no longer implied ambition, much less promiscuity, some of that decade’s most popular fi lms said. After three decades of women on screen seducing, deceiving, and in rare instances killing men, however, it was too late to close Pandora’s box. These mixed messages created a view of women as slightly mad. Neither marriage nor failing to marry enabled this postwar woman to cope. Films like Possessed (1947), Harriet Craig (1950),

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Executive Suite (1954), A Woman’s World (1954), and Queen Bee (1955) stuff women back into the domestic, frequently suburban realm of submission to their husbands and watch as they panic. The eponymous Harriet Craig works at her housekeeping like a profi t- driven cor-porate executive. Putting so much effort into producing a spotless, perfectly appointed home, however, reaps no profi t, only an oppressive hysteria . Executive Suite ’s Julia Treadway owns a controlling share of stocks in a company whose chief executive has just died. Suicidal over his death and her own spinsterhood, she has the power to decide the man to replace him. A 1940s woman would have boldly set up a man for the job, seduced or murdered him, and acquired the company herself. Treadway, on the other hand, is so distraught over her wasted, unmarried life she breaks down sobbing—on the ledge of the company’s top- story offi ce. In There’s Always Tomorrow (1956), the murderous lovers of Double Indemnity , Stanwyck and MacMurray, meet again. This time, he plays a happily married man feeling unappreciated by wife and kids. She plays a single woman from his past who forgoes her own desire for him to steer him back toward the family that needs him, a self- sacrifi ce unthinkable for a noir woman. In these 1950s dramas, the world of crime and scheming women has been replaced by the corporate boardroom and stay- at- home moms.

The same period witnessed a renewed idealization of the blonde bombshell with the hour-glass fi gure. That image of woman replaced the androgynous, masculinized look of the long, lean, shoulder- padded women of the 1940s. The 1950s female stars share more in common with curvaceous, prewar sex symbols like the bawdy Mae West in I’m No Angel (1933), who quips, “It’s not the men in your life that count, it’s the life in your men.” The 1950s said good- bye to the likes of Crawford and Stanwyck as “It” girls and hello to Betty Grable, Lana Turner, and Marilyn Monroe. The “new look,” as magazines dubbed the fashion trend these stars promoted, took advantage of postwar prosperity to use yards of extra material in large poofed skirts, cinched at the waist. These dresses emphasized the so- called wasp fi gure of exaggerated chest, slim waist, and exaggerated behind. As embodied by Monroe in movies like Monkey Business (1952), How to Marry a Millionaire (1953), and The Seven Year Itch (1955), the sexy woman of the 1950s was also part child, her sexuality endlessly open and available. Her characters regularly delivered lines like this from The Seven Year Itch : “There I was with a perfectly strange plumber—and no polish on my toenails.” Her ditzy qualities mitigated her sexiness so she posed no threat to the suburbanized, corporate man or even his wife.

The wasp fi gure promoted by the “new look” took on ironic meaning in another Holly-wood female trope of the era: the monstrous woman. Movies like Attack of the Fifty- Foot Woman (1958) and The Wasp Woman (1959) turned the frustration and hysteria of domesti-cally trapped women inside out. Rather than experiencing the fear and paranoia herself, she projects it onto her own exterior, the better to terrorize others. These fi lms translate her panic into her weapon. While they also clearly point to fears of nature gone berserk in the nuclear age, these fi lms tellingly use women to project that fear.

A comparison was also made between the shape of the nuclear missile, so present in public consciousness after the nuclear bombing of Japan in 1945, and the 1950s screen fash-ion of the cone- shaped bra. The missile- breasts feature prominently in scenes as diverse as the showgirl musical routines performed by Jane Russell and Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953), Julie Adams’s swim scene in Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954), and Janet Leigh disrobing in Touch of Evil (1958) and Psycho (1960). The missile- bra comparison equates fear of women with fear of the nuclear bomb and suggests that women’s sexuality in the wake of the family- destroying 1940s femme fatale remains potentially deadly.

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Femme Fatale Redux

The 1980s and 1990s occasioned a comeback for the noir femme fatale in some of the era’s most popular fi lms: Body Heat (1981), Against All Odds (1984), No Way Out (1987), Fatal Attraction (1987), Basic Instinct (1992), and The Last Seduction (1994). The revival of noir themes that defi ne women as dangerous enigmas invites review of these fi lms’ wider political and social context: the “second wave” of feminism. Infl uenced by the civil rights movement, women in the 1960s and 1970s organized to protest sex discrimination in educa-tion, housing, employment, and public spaces. They fought for equal pay and legalization of contraception and abortion, and they marched to support the equal rights amendment (ERA) just as fi rst- wave feminists had marched for the vote more than a half century before. Though the ERA failed, other laws and court rulings did prohibit discrimination on the basis of sex, and women were elected to national offi ce not as widows of congressmen but in their own right for the fi rst time.

Culturally and politically, the United States changed in the wake of this second- wave agitation. Many women did not feel obliged to defi ne themselves socially and sexually through marriage, and they moved into previously off- limits vocations. Men resisted but were expected as never before to shoulder child- rearing and housekeeping duties if for no other reason than to compensate for working women’s absence from the home. In this way, second- wave feminism affected both political and personal realms, with women forcing subjects like rape and domestic violence to the fore as part of their movement for greater emancipation and legal rights.

A range of popular movies made just before the noir revival refl ected these shifts and celebrated women’s independence . Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore (1974) begins by mak-ing a widow of Alice, compelling her slow, often comic ascent toward self- suffi ciency and self- awareness as a single mother. Set during World War II, the Academy Award-winning drama Julia (1977) showed off women practicing political subversion and espionage while cultivating a meaningful relationship with each other, independent of men. The Turning Point (1977) compared a lonely but successful ballet star with her friend who sacrifi ced her own artistic aspirations to become a wife and a mother. Norma Rae (1979) showcased a single woman’s political awakening without adding romantic entanglement to her evolution, while Coming Home (1978) charted a military wife’s evolving political consciousness through a sexual awakening outside her marriage in the era of Vietnam. At the end of the 1970s, Kramer vs. Kramer (1979) portrayed divorce and ensuing custody battles as the bitter harvest of the women’s movement, yet An Unmarried Woman (1978), made only the year before, posed divorce as liberation and the means to women’s self- confi dence and career fulfi llment.

By the 1980s, conservative Republican politicians like Ronald Reagan and anti- ERA leaders like Phyllis Schlafl y succeeded in their opposition to the women’s movement and the politics of sexual liberation. Strengthened by a rise in Christian fundamentalism, the New Right argued that feminist agitation weakened the moral fi ber and anti- Communist strength of the United States. Conservatives claimed that feminism’s goals, especially abor-tion rights, doomed “traditional family values” and that with the family in decline the entire country was sure to follow. This sky- is- falling rhetoric resonated with the American public even though the U.S. economy depended on women in the workforce.

At the same time, independent of gender ideology, baby boomer families discovered that they required two incomes simply to maintain the lifestyle their parents had known and they

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expected to enjoy themselves. This combination of disparate pressures on women to embark on careers previously denied them or to carry their weight fi nancially while also playing “mom” showed up in the movies in patterns reminiscent of classical Hollywood’s response to shifting gender roles and economic upheaval during the Jazz Age and World War II. In general, fi lms of this period punish women for the very pursuits that fi lms of the previous decade honored. Many of these fi lms fi gure into the backlash against feminism, a cultural phenomenon most prominently documented in Susan Faludi’s seminal 1991 book Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women .

Fatal Attraction

Despite mostly poor reviews, Fatal Attraction was the second highest- grossing fi lm of 1987, earned several Academy Award nominations, including Best Picture, and became one of the most controversial fi lms in late twentieth- century movie history. Talk shows talked about it, comedy sketch shows parodied it, and newspapers covered it as news. So popular was the fi lm that its title entered the cultural lexicon as a way to indicate obsession turned patho-logical, particularly a frustrated single woman’s obsession with a man or simply her lack of husband and kids. Independent, professionally successful Alex, played by Glenn Close, embodied the fi lm’s controversy and became a litmus test for viewers’ opinions of feminism. Whether a viewer hated Alex and cheered her demise or rooted for her against the movie’s own obvious allegiances said something about that person’s attitude toward feminism. Fatal Attraction spawned numerous imitations, from Single White Female (1992) and Hand That Rocks the Cradle (1992) to The Crush (1993) and Swimfan (2002). These knockoffs sug-gested that all females, from teens to hired nannies, contain the seeds of paranoid obsession about men and psychotic envy of other women who enjoy lives validated by the very men that the psychos attract but cannot keep. (As perhaps the ultimate sign of cultural signifi -cance, Fatal Attraction also inspired 1993’s movie spoof, Fatal Instinct .)

Fatal Attraction presents Dan, played by Michael Douglas, a happily married, successful lawyer living in New York City but contemplating a house in the country. His wife, Beth, played by Anne Archer, is beautiful and kind, so devoted to their young daughter that she allows her to take Dan’s place in bed with her while Dan is out walking the family dog. When wife and daughter leave for the weekend, Dan has a sexually heated fl ing with Alex, a publisher he meets through work. Dan describes their arrangement as “two adults who saw an opportunity and took advantage of it.” The masculine- named Alex agrees to play by boys’ rules, but when Dan ditches her to resume his role as husband and father, she reneges. “I will not be ignored,” she threatens. Desperate for his attention, she attempts suicide, swaying him with her despair, then turning on him violently when his sympathy proves temporary. Preg-nant and wanting to have the child against Dan’s expectations or wishes, Alex tightens the psychological noose as he tries to escape with his family to the country. In the fi lm’s climax, Dan saves Beth from Alex’s butcher knife by drowning Alex in the bathtub, only to watch her rise from the tub again ready to kill. Finally Beth shoots Alex in the heart, and the fi lm ends with intimations of a tested but restored family peace.

The fi lm sparked intense public debate. Feminists vehemently criticized its over- the- top vilifi cation of the career- minded, independent woman. They saw conservative backlash in the way the fi lm fi rst pitted the black- leather- clad Alex against the softly lit, doe- eyed, stay- at- home Beth, then made it clear that, compared to Beth’s assets of a successful husband and

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adorable child, Alex’s professional accomplishments amount to nothing. While the women’s movement depended upon women joining forces for the benefi t of all, this fi lm marked women as the natural enemy of other women. As feminist critics also pointed out, the fi lm both punishes Alex for expressing her sexual desire and exploits that openness to titillate viewers, while allowing Dan to atone for his sexual indiscretion with choices unavailable to Alex. Dan’s abdication of Alex’s pregnancy, justifi ed by her psychotic behavior, also seemed to mock women’s struggle for reproductive freedom.

Other viewers saw Dan and Beth as smug yuppies, a category coined in the 1980s to refer to young urban professionals. From this perspective, Beth and Dan’s self- contained, self- satisfi ed world deserved destruction by Alex’s wrath. 10 Alex’s fi erce, homicidal char-acterization thus energizes the fi lm in subversive contrast to the rule- obeying, dependent Beth.

Still other critics saw Alex as the source of irrevocable depravity that the fi lm needed to vanquish in order to end satisfactorily. Director Adrian Lyne’s original ending, included on the DVD release, involves planted evidence and Alex turned suicidal again. It hits a much more morally ambiguous note than the Beth- versus- Alex/good- versus- bad shoot- out resolution. Test audiences, however, rejected any fate for Alex other than death at the hands of Beth. They seemed to echo the politics of the New Right and its opposition to changing mores and gender dynamics by advocating revenge against Alex and death to the threat she posed to “family.”

Alex’s horror movie resurrection at fi lm’s end compares her to the mesmerizing vamp of A Fool There Was and attributes to her desires and motives a supernatural force defi ant of any plausible, much less sympathetic, psychology. She is not so much woman wronged or even woman blinded by desire as symbol of evil. As more than one critic has pointed out, her transformation from attractive, confi dent professional to hysterical shrew, monstrous in her desire, undermines the feminist stands she takes to defend herself within the fi lm. 11 As with the 1940s noir femme fatale, Alex’s designs oppose the traditional family, but unlike her “husband and home bore me” predecessors, winning for Alex means stealing domestic bliss for herself. While the old femme fatale wanted no part of such monotony, this one would kill for it.

The fi lm’s reactionary politics, while still resonant in such issues as the political viability of former fi rst lady, senator, and secretary of state Hillary Rodham Clinton, nonetheless now has a dated quality. Many contemporary fans value the fi lm for its camp appeal or its visual sumptuousness and sharp direction.

Basic Instinct and Disclosure : The Michael Douglas Factor

Notorious neo- noir fi lms from the early 1990s, Basic Instinct and Disclosure (both 1994) also demonized productive, independent women. The blockbuster hit Basic Instinct ignited controversy with its explicit depiction of sex and violence and its bisexual femme fatale. Accused of homophobia and misogyny, the storyline provoked protests from gay and lesbian groups before fi lming had even fi nished. Disclosure , a less commercially successful fi lm, courted feminist outrage by portraying sexual harassment as a matter of women exploit-ing men. The fi lm posed this peculiar gender reversal despite the famous Supreme Court nomination hearings three years earlier in which former employee Anita Hill alleged sexual harassment against Clarence Thomas in a Senate hearing almost entirely composed of men.

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Disclosure made the woman the villain and the man her victim, counter to the overwhelm-ing number of actual harassment cases fi led in the wake of the landmark Thomas hearings.

Fatal Attraction , Basic Instinct , and Disclosure coalesce around male lead Michael Douglas to solidify his acting persona as an everyday guy made to suffer the manipula-tions of unstable, predatory, but somehow also professionally successful women. As he says in Disclosure when asked how he will cope, “Grin and bear it like I usually do and hope it doesn’t get any worse.” The repeated casting of Douglas underscores the ideology that the movies promote, rendering explicit what might have remained implicit with a different male lead. Each fi lm associates female encroachment on Douglas’s character’s work domain with persecution of him. In Fatal Attraction , Alex’s publishing company hires his law fi rm, providing her the chance to seduce and then terrorize him. In Basic Instinct , cynical, trigger- happy cop Nick Curran must interview famous thriller author Catherine Tramell, played by Sharon Stone. Catherine’s novels imply she knows more about actual crimes than he does, putting her in charge of their initial encounters. Disclosure begins with the symbolic emascu-lation of computer expert Tom Sanders by setting him up for a promotion that goes instead to the ruthlessly ambitious and sexually rapacious Meredith Johnson, played by Demi Moore.

In their overlapping themes and use of Michael Douglas, this trio of fi lms equates female ambition with virulence to send the message that the goal of harmonious family life and the goal of successful men and women sharing the workplace are mutually exclusive. Women are thus the enemy of men except when women are where that era’s conservative politicians would keep them: in the home, tending the kids.

On the whole, the paranoid gender dynamic of these fi lms depends on a disjunction that robs them of coherent political expression. Struggling under the weight of their own absurd-ity and detachment from recognizable societal patterns, fi lms like Disclosure resist logical scrutiny. The plot confounds even Roger Ebert: “It is an exercise in pure cynicism, with little respect for its subject—or for its thriller plot, which I defy anyone to explain .” 12

Working Girls

Other fi lms from the 1980s and 1990s took the theme of working women and made comedy of it. The hugely popular 9 to 5 (1980) is a revenge fantasy in which women working anony-mous jobs in giant corporations fi nally get even. Three assistants, played by Jane Fonda, Lily Tomlin, and Dolly Parton, slave for a male boss played by Dabney Coleman, a “sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot.” Fed up with his abuse and his habit of taking credit for their ideas, they tie him up at his house and take over the offi ce. Under their management, productivity goes up as they instigate employee- friendly programs like child care, fl extime, and job sharing. The fi lm was such a success that it led to the creation of two television situa-tion comedies of the same title, and the theme song provided an Academy Award-nominated hit for Parton. A seemingly frothy exercise in wish fulfi llment, this fi lm at heart offers a sharp satire on the topic of chauvinism and the routine use of women in ways inappropriate to the work environment.

Baby Boom (1987) comically addressed the culture’s burning question of whether women could “have it all,” both demanding career and full- time family, and was popular enough to spur a television series, too. Unlike the female support staff of 9 to 5 , lead character J.C. Wiatt, played by the unlikely Diane Keaton, is the boss of her offi ce. Known as “the tiger lady,” J.C. epitomizes the fearsome professional woman forsaking family life for a

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high- powered career as an advertising executive. Known for her competitive drive, J.C. thrives in a world dominated by men until the day she inherits a long- lost cousin’s baby and her compulsively ordered life turns chaotic. Comedy derives from the incompatibility of mothering and career success, with J.C. tossing off lines like “I can’t have a baby—I have a 12:30 lunch meeting” and “I went to Yale and Harvard, I don’t have children.” Despite J.C.’s efforts to put up the baby for adoption, her live- in lover dumps both her and their posh DINK lifestyle, the term coined in the 1980s meaning “double income, no kids.” The baby thus quashes her love life and jeopardizes her career.

Forced to quit her high- powered position when predictably she decides against adoption, J.C. retreats with the baby to Vermont, where she at last masters the art of mothering and, as a direct consequence, the fi lm implies, falls in love with the local veterinarian. Meanwhile, her type- A personality resurfaces when she invents a recipe for baby applesauce so tasty that she successfully markets it nationwide and gets to reject her old advertising fi rm’s bid to direct her new product’s ad campaign. While audiences enjoyed the fantasy, critics were not as enthusiastic, noting the fi lm’s heavy- handed message about saving the endangered nuclear family. As one critic acidly put it, “From time to time, Hollywood likes to make movies that assuage some of the guilt that it feels for being such a superfi cial, unthinking, materialistic behemoth. Baby Boom is one of these fi lms—a typically 1980s movie whose essential message is ‘making money and living in fl ash apartments is all well and good, but what we all really want is to have kids and live in an old house making jam.’” 13

J.C. Wiatt’s look in this fi lm is also “typically 1980s”: she sports shoulder- padded, exqui-sitely fi tted business suits the better to “pass” as a man in a man’s world, the New York advertising scene. When Diane Keaton famously wore men’s ties and jackets as part of her Annie Hall (1977) clothing ensemble, that look playfully connoted women’s struggle for gender parity but within the fi lm’s storyline it amounted to a choice, a fashion whimsy. In the more romantic of the two comedies, Annie Hall ’s male- inspired attire is a fl irtation aid, while the tiger lady’s version renders fashion a mandatory uniform. In Baby Boom , Keaton’s cos-tuming raises the stakes to male impersonation, similar to the shoulder- padded look of 1940s fi lm heroines like Mildred Pierce. Clothing and location cues both say that J.C. becomes a real woman only when she discovers her maternal instincts, fl ees the city, and ditches the suits. When she gets it all at fi lm’s end—baby, man, and business—she forfeits neither fam-ily nor wealth, just the offi ce masquerade.

In this respect, Baby Boom presents a subtle riff on the earlier Tootsie (1982) and Mr. Mom (1983), two signifi cant comedies about gender politics featuring men in various degrees of female impersonation. A critical and box offi ce hit, Tootsie stars Dustin Hoffman as Michael, an actor unable to get work until he auditions in drag for a female lead in a soap opera. (The fallacy here is that women can gain employment more easily than men can in this post- ERA era, one of the fears promulgated by the anti- ERA lobby.) Throughout the fi lm, Michael- as- Dorothy endures the come- ons and belittlement of reliable chauvinist Dabney Coleman while playing mother, confi dante, and friend to numerous characters. His trials as Dorothy lead Michael to reveal his identity at the end by declaring that being a woman has made him a better man. Mr. Mom follows a similar trajectory when Michael Keaton’s character, Jack, loses his job, dons an apron, and takes over the household while his wife goes to work full- time. Like J.C. Wiatt’s transformation in Baby Boom , Jack’s drag performance is not literal but supposes that men and women, work and home, are so at odds with each other that leav-ing one realm to succeed in the other requires an identity change nearly that drastic. Though

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not as well- known as Tootsie , Mr. Mom sends a similar message about learning new respect for women. It stresses more emphatically, however, the fi nancial imperatives that dictate the divide between running a household and holding down a job when Jack’s overworked wife becomes as absent from the home as he was before turning into Mr. Mom. When neither spouse gets it all, the ending implicitly gives a thumbs- down to an economy that demands such an unhappy trade- off of its workers, regardless of gender.

Drag of a different sort plays a key part in Working Girl (1988) when a secretary masquer-ades as her upper- class boss. The not- so- subtle reference of the title to prostitution remains a subtext in this romantic comedy that is more interested in issues of class than the divide between family life and career women.

At the fi lm’s center is Tess McGill, played by the girlish- voiced Melanie Griffi th, a secretary with a working- class pedigree and white- collar ambition. When she discovers that her new boss is a woman, Tess thinks her climb up the corporate ladder will be infi nitely easier. Katharine Parker, played with devious glee by Sigourney Weaver, mouths all the right platitudes but proves to be every bit the manipulative user that Tess’s male boss was. Tess’s illusions about Katharine as a mentor are shattered when Tess discovers Katharine’s plans to use an idea Tess pitched to her and claim credit for herself. When Katharine breaks her leg skiing, Tess sees her opportunity and grabs it by passing herself off as the boss, wearing Katharine’s couture clothing and imitating her hairstyle. The transition Tess undergoes from secretary to manage-ment by the end of the fi lm is thus as much about knowing how to look successful as it is about having the brains and guts to take charge. To complete the impersonation of business acumen, she must renounce her “working girl” big hair and seductive clothing to adopt the upper- crust style of the low- voiced, porcelain- skinned Katharine with the sculpted face. What is more, she must leave behind her blue- collar neighborhood and friendships.

The fi lm pits Tess against Katharine in the boardroom and the bedroom, as Tess slowly falls for Katharine’s boyfriend, not realizing who he is. Played by Harrison Ford, Jack Trainer, who is not as enamored of Katharine as she is of him, is attracted by Tess’s genuine sweetness and authenticity, qualities that manipulative “tiger lady” Katharine lacks. Unlike the group spirit animating 9 to 5 , this fi lm divides women against each other along the lines of Fatal Attraction , suggesting that only one woman is woman enough for both Jack and the job. For one woman to win, the other must lose, according to this backlash logic. The fi lm thus lauds Tess’s pluck while vilifying Weaver’s forceful presence and her aggressive sexuality on humiliating display when she tries to seduce Jack.

Despite or perhaps owing to this rift between Katharine and Tess, the fi lm’s closing images of Tess and Jack making a home together suggest an equal partnership between the sexes. Neither character sacrifi ces for the other as they help each other get coffee and breakfast before heading out to work. The fi nal image seals Tess’s triumphant replacement of Katharine: she is now “boss,” with her own secretary and a high- rise offi ce with a view. Though Tess makes a point of telling her secretary how fairly she will treat her, Working Girl ’s comedy relies on ginned- up rivalry between women for its entertainment fuel.

Avenging Angels

If many movies in the 1980s and 1990s counted on audiences to enjoy the sight of women competing with each other for men and jobs, a few unleashed feminine rage squarely at men. Ms. 45 (1981), Extremities (1986), The Accused (1988), and Thelma and Louise (1991)

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all concern the problem of justice in the crime of rape. Unlike Straw Dogs (1972), which dramatized rape as an insult to the victim’s husband and his perceived emasculation through her suffering, or Deliverance (1972), which featured a male rape, these fi lms take their female victim’s point of view entirely. More importantly, they allot their female protagonists the chance, even obligation, to mete out vengeance. The four movies differ in how far each assault victim is willing to go for reprisal and the means by which she exacts her revenge. The harshest and most excessively violent revenge occurs in the exploitation thriller Ms. 45 , directed by the controversial Abel Ferrera, and the most attenuated occurs in Thelma and Louise , a combination of buddy fl ick and road movie, directed by Ridley Scott from an Academy Award-winning script by Callie Khouri.

All four of these movies follow in the wake of Susan Brownmiller’s watershed book Against Our Will: Men, Women and Rape , published in 1975. This comprehensive study defi nes rape as a crime of coercion and domination of women, refl ective of the society in which it occurs, rather than as a strictly violent, sexual act isolated from the public sphere. To rebel against the culture of rape is to struggle against the male dominance that allows men to rape with impunity and encourages a view of women as submissive to men personally and subordinate to men publicly. Such a perspective on rape derives from the second- wave feminist notion that “the personal is the political.” The women’s movement thus brought rape out of its shroud of secrecy as activists argued against the prevailing idea that rape was a private event that shamed its victims as much as if not more than its perpetrators. Among other effects, these feminist protests resulted in “rape shield” laws that restricted defense attempts to humiliate victims and weaken their cases by airing their sexual histories in court. The aim was to prevent trials from turning into referenda on the issue of whether a victim was “asking for it.” These movies all turn on some version of that same question.

Ms. 45 presents two rapes in its fi rst fi fteen minutes. A mute woman working at a lowly job in the fashion industry gets raped on her way home from work and then again when she arrives home and catches a burglar mid- robbery. These violations transform her from a meek, subservient creature into a dressed- to- the- nines, gun- toting, one- woman vigilante force, the Avenging Angel of the fi lm’s alternate title. A cult favorite, Ms. 45 is a bloody contribution to the rape– revenge cycle as Thana, played unforgettably by Zoe Tamerlis, starts blowing away almost any man who looks her way. Called “intensely disturbing yet sexy, clever, intelligent, and even funny,” Ms. 45 was not a mainstream hit, and its perspective, presented within the exploitative revenge fantasy genre, did not address a mainstream audience by any means. 14

Yet the fi lm also comments indirectly on class issues by suggesting that Thana’s seam-stress job oppresses her almost as much as the violence to her body and the violation of her home. She is a constant victim, poorly dressed, but when she straps on the gun to take charge of her own destiny, Thana also dons sexy clothes, as if she is indeed “asking for it,” the faster to attract and kill her offenders. With this transformation of character registered through her come- hither costuming, the fi lm ironically comments on rape court cases in which a woman’s clothing can be presented as evidence that no crime actually occurred since a woman dressed in this manner is clearly inviting the attention of men who cannot be held accountable for what they do in view of such alluring attire. Thana’s muteness, which drives the power of Tamerlis’s performance, implies the inherent defenselessness of women and their relatively voiceless political position in patriarchal culture. This fi lm suggests that as instruments of male- sanctioned power, the police and courts are useless so, to foment change, women must take justice and self- defense into their own hands.

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Extremities , based on a successful stage play, also distrusts police willingness and capabil-ity to assist women rape victims. The movie dramatizes the plight of a woman survivor of an assault whom the police refuse to help, even though the attacker stole her wallet in his aborted rape attempt. Even as the police deny her further assistance—“If he calls, let us know and we’ll send a man round”—the rapist plots his attack on her at home. Played convincingly by former pinup star Farrah Fawcett, Marjorie fi ghts for her life against her attacker and then turns the tables on him when she captures him and locks him away in her house. Once he is at her mercy, she fi nds herself paralyzed to turn him in and unable to refrain from torturing him. Despite the fi lm’s attempt to let Marjorie’s roommates complicate the ethical question of how to treat this criminal, once she cages him, the fi lm runs out of steam. Fawcett won the somewhat aston-ished praise of critics for her performance, but the fi lm fl opped at the box offi ce.

The much more commercially and critically successful fi lm The Accused presents a twist on these vigilante scenarios by portraying a legal system that fi rst fails its rape victim with a plea bargain for her attackers, then redeems itself by successfully prosecuting a second trial. This fi lm also addresses issues of socioeconomic class by presenting the rape victim, Sarah, as working- class and the setting of her rape a seedy, working- class bar. (Jodie Foster won a Best Actress Academy Award for her role as Sarah.) Sarah, with her rough talk and cheap, provocative style of dress, contrasts with the sophisticated attorney prosecuting her case, Kathryn, played by real- life rape victim Kelly McGillis. (This fact was publicized at the time of the fi lm’s release.) When the original trial results in a plea bargain for the rapists, Sarah interrupts a quiet, sophisticated dinner party at Kathryn’s tastefully appointed home to accuse Kathryn of selling her out. With license plates reading “Sexy Sadie” and low- slung shirts, Sarah represents the “accused” of the title who must both defend her drunken, fl irta-tious behavior at the bar and fi ght for her own case to go forward. Kathryn fi nally redeems herself by becoming a true advocate for Sarah, validating the system by successfully pros-ecuting the men who egged on and cheered the rape.

In the presentation of the prosecution’s case at the end, the fi lm depicts the rape for the fi rst time, leading some critics to cry exploitation since the graphic scene serves as the fi lm’s visual climax, a tacit endorsement of the crime’s sexual titillation for viewers. By suppress-ing the sight of the rape for most of the fi lm, the narrative payoff at the end presents the rape as a visual reward. The fi lm also suggests that sanctioned legal channels can address rape with satisfactory results for the victim, a message contrasting with that of lower- budgeted or independently made fi lms like Ms. 45 and I Spit on Your Grave (1977), which advocate revenge by any means available, the bloodier the better.

The most popular of these fi lms, Thelma and Louise , features two rapes, one on- screen, the other off. The on- screen rape occurs when two best friends, a submissive housewife and a waitress at a diner, abandon husband and boyfriend to hit the road for a weekend fi shing vacation. They stop at a honky- tonk bar where the married Thelma, played movingly by Geena Davis, fl irts with and then gets hit on by a man who knows she is drunk. He takes her out back to the parking lot, but just as the assault begins, Louise, played by fl inty- eyed Susan Sarandon, arrives with a gun. (For both actresses, this was a name- making fi lm.) She shoots the man and the two women take off, with the police eventually in pursuit. Thelma and Louise implies that a rape in her past motivates Louise’s act of extreme violence and her fugitive reaction to the crime. Her past tells her to distrust the police’s ability or willingness to believe the women’s self- defense version of events. From experience, she believes that Thelma faced serious trouble in that parking lot.

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On the lam, the two shed their hausfrau apparel for roadworthy duds, an outward trans-formation symbolic of inner evolutions from weak to strong, from subdued to daring, from carefree friends to committed partners. A paternal cop, played by Harvey Keitel, takes their case and comes to care so much about them that by fi lm’s end he berates a man for stealing their getaway money. He claims to know the secret truth about Louise’s past, the event that haunts her and compels her to run. That he never spells out directly what he “knows” sug-gests the elusive grip patriarchy still has on these characters even as they blaze a new path for themselves and for the legion of female fans the fi lm attracted.

The fi lm’s attitude toward rape is complicated in some respects by Thelma’s sexual awak-ening in a tryst with a hitchhiker the two allow on board with them. An indictment of her unfaithful and abusive husband, Thelma’s thrill at the young man’s attentions cuts against the story’s subplot of Thelma and Louise rejecting the men in their lives and coming to trust only each other. This growing devotion to each other and rebellion against their past social roles, especially as they had been treated and defi ned by men, invited condemnation from critics. Many deplored the fi lm as feminist propaganda and antimale. That kind of reaction led other critics to qualify their take on the fi lm’s politics. For example, critic Rita Kempley felt compelled to announce: “That’s not to say that Thelma and Louise are male- bashers or that the movie is a load of spiteful feminism. . . . This liberating adventure has a woman’s perspective, yes, but one that aims to give moviegoers of both sexes an ungirdled good time.” 15

In the end, cornered by the police and clutching each other in the sort of embrace Hol-lywood reserves for heterosexual couples, the two sail out over a canyon in their convertible and the fi lm freeze- frames them in mid- fl ight. While manifest destiny remains a driving spirit in traditional westerns, this movie suggests that the only truly liberated space for women is as yet uncharted or, more pessimistically, open to them only in death.

Women in Contemporary Pure Political Films

In the contemporary era, movies featuring both political content and intentional political messages involve major female players usually when gender is one of the ideological issues driving the story. Even with the women’s movement, the election of women to national offi ce in numbers that defy tokenism, and the overall headway made by women in professions once deemed men- only, movies still entertain the question of what female empowerment means in society and in politics.

Viewed as usurpers of traditional patriarchy and, worse, as having shirked their domestic duties, some women in public life still undergo this sort of scrutiny. Films about campaign politics can dramatize their plight of having to prove themselves both competent and still somehow “all woman” by framing the political process as a testing ground for the fi tness of a candidate to command power.

The Contender

In the wake of the sex scandal involving President Bill Clinton, a pure political fi lm debuted to ask whether Americans had gone too far in demanding to know every detail of elected offi cials’ personal lives. In The Contender (2000), the vice president has died and President Jackson Evans, in a sly performance by Jeff Bridges, decides to secure his place in history

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by appointing a woman as the new vice president. He chooses Senator Laine Hanson, a perfect contender until it is leaked to the media that in college she participated in a sexual orgy. Despite the real- life context of Clinton’s extramarital affair, in the fi lm’s terms Han-son’s gender alone seems to prompt The Contender ’s guiding question: “Can a promiscuous woman be president?”

As played by perennial Oscar nominee Joan Allen, Hanson is no- nonsense without being humorless, hardworking and smart without seeming cerebral. (Her build and hairstyle also resemble those of Geraldine Ferraro, running mate to Democratic presidential nominee Wal-ter Mondale in 1984.) Hanson is devoted to her family in a way that forgoes sentimentality. Indeed, the fi lm introduces her having sex with her husband atop an offi ce desk, making it clear that when it comes to a professional life and a sex life she has not compromised in either direction. Yet her levelheaded qualities also suggest earthiness, a woman who may very well harbor secrets. Besides that, as we have seen, any woman having sex in main-stream American fi lm is automatically suspect.

Once allegations of her past behavior surface, it is open season on Hanson. The press, in all its twenty- four- hour news cycle glory, cannot get enough of the story. Leading the charge against her is Senator Shelly Runyon, a particularly juicy part played by Gary Old-man replete with Nixonian widow’s peak and H.R. Haldeman-style thick- rimmed glasses. A member of the opposition party and head of the Senate committee that must clear her nomi-nation, he declares, “I’m not going to confi rm a woman just because she’s a woman.” Then he sets out to destroy her candidacy for pretty much that reason.

Runyon expressly represents the GOP, specifi cally the branch supporting Richard Nixon’s 1960s–1970s silent majority and vice president Dan Quayle’s 1980s “family values”—that is, the anti- ERA, antiabortion rights faction. Runyon stands as a renouncement of the 1960s counterculture, symbolized by both Hanson’s alleged kinky, “free love” sex and Evans’s constant appetite for food, an allusion to the fi rst baby boomer president and man of many appetites, Bill Clinton. If Runyon can prove Hanson’s dalliance, he will have shown the American public all it needs to know about a woman: her sexual impurity. If she is guilty of having had unconventional sex, she cannot be counted on to support any other conventional value women still must embody: motherhood, stand- by- your- man rectitude, and sex within marriage only. Distilling a woman’s character into a question of her sexual experience is the key code to understanding Republican shorthand. Hollywood, too, relies on that code, only in this fi lm the shorthand is actually deployed in a pure political context, fairly unique in American popular fi lm.

The plot mirrors the case unfolding against Hanson. News shows air blurry photographs to track the apparent verifi cation of her secret. Hanson neither confi rms nor denies the rumor, stating quite succinctly the fi lm’s main point: “I simply can’t respond to the accusations because it’s not okay for them to be made.” A bust of Thomas Jefferson in the foreground of several shots and Allen’s costuming in white high- collared shirts against dark jackets suggest colonial- era integrity, while her white sweat- suited jog through Arlington National Cemetery implies her status as sacrifi cial victim. The fi lm suggests that her right to privacy is not unpatriotic but backed by the nation’s own history.

Just as events seem about to bear out Runyon’s prediction, “What I say the American people will believe. You know why? I’ll have a very big microphone,” a Hollywood- style twist occurs to take the heat off Hanson, and it turns out she was not the person caught in those grainy pictures. In this way, the fi lm tries to have it both ways. It wants to point out

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that questions of sexual conduct are irrelevant to government offi ce while also vouchsafi ng the purity of its heroine. That her virtue was never really in question undercuts the fact that she withstood the brutal smear campaign so stoically. It rehabilitates her completely as loyal wife and model mother and seems to answer the question “Can a hussy hold offi ce?” with a sighing “no.”

While the fi lm was a box offi ce disappointment, grossing only $17.8 million, critics approved it. Roger Ebert pointed out the fi lm’s political context: “When I asked its star, Jeff Bridges, if the plot was a veiled reference to Monica- gate, he smiled. ‘Veiled?’ he said. ‘I don’t think it’s so veiled.’ . . . The Contender takes sides and is bold about it. Most movies are like puppies that want everyone to pet them.” 16

To a post- impeachment, post- 9/11 audience, the fi lm’s depiction of the political process as soap opera remains presciently relevant. As the 2004 presidential campaign revived debate over 1960s attitudes and actions in the Vietnam War—even as actual war raged in Iraq and Afghanistan—the political process eerily resembled the fi ght over Hanson’s did- she- or- didn’t- she sexual past in The Contender . The Contender wants audiences to agree that the focus on a politics of personal behavior, orchestrated by politicians and abetted by a hungry media market, takes up too much airtime. By attaching these issues to a female vice presi-dential nominee, a fi ction in American political history, the fi lm suggests that privacy is a particularly feminist concern, hinting at but not fully exploring the related issue of abor-tion rights. Ultimately, however, the fi lm fails to critique in any meaningful way the feeding frenzy of politics by relying so deeply on a realistic depiction of that frenzy to fuel its plot and titillate viewers. Perhaps that is why the fi lm disappointed audiences in 2000. It mirrored too closely the mediated version of the political process already so omnipresent in American life.

Films with political content and messaging occasionally feature women prominently but not necessarily to make an explicit point about gender. Only indirectly do they question how women should fi t into the political arena.

Primary Colors and The Manchurian Candidate

Primary Colors (1998) and The Manchurian Candidate (2004) are two other pure politi-cal fi lms that question the effi cacy and integrity of the American political electoral system but more pointedly question the role of women in that system. On the topic of gender, both invoke the image of Hillary Rodham Clinton, the former fi rst lady who went on to become the junior senator from New York. Primary Colors treats her with respect in the fi gure of Susan Stanton, played by Emma Thompson as a personally cautious but politically true believer in her husband, presidential hopeful Jack Stanton, played with oozy charm by John Travolta. Never venturing beyond the closed door of their bedroom, Primary Colors paints the Stantons as well- meaning but ultimately fl awed, politically driven people. Whether polit-ically motivated people are necessarily fl awed or politics inevitably causes those fl aws the fi lm never decides.

Featuring cameos by notable Hollywood Democratic supporters like Rob Reiner, the fi lm recaptures moments from Bill Clinton’s actual 1992 primary race, including rumors of Jack’s philandering. It also mimics reality with a talk- show spot by Jack and Susan. She holds Jack’s hand fi rmly as she defends their marriage and then tosses it aside when the interview ends. More than infi delity, Jack’s lies torment Susan. In this she seems more believable than depressing or disingenuous.

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The Hillary Clinton references in the 2004 remake of the 1962 paranoid political thriller The Manchurian Candidate are more diabolical. Played by Meryl Streep, Eleanor Shaw is mother to Raymond Shaw, the man tapped to be the next vice president after heroic service in the Gulf War; a strategically timed assassination will leave him president. Whereas the political conspiracy in the original fi lm featured Communists in a labyrinthine plan to sabo-tage the United States not from the political left but from the right, in this fi lm right- wingers pose as liberals to corrode the left from within its own ranks and essentially overrun the government. Substituting corporate America for Cold War Communists, this contemporary Manchurian Candidate sets up Raymond to be “the fi rst privately owned and operated vice president of the United States.” “Manchurian” now stands for Manchurian Global Corp., not Communist China, and Raymond’s greedy, self- serving mother provides the key to “own-ing” him.

Rumors in the entertainment press suggested that Streep channeled Hillary Clinton to portray this overbearing, manipulative monster, and the styling of Streep’s appearance in the fi lm alludes to her. Whether true or not, the widespread nature of the rumor means that the mere idea of Hillary Clinton, a lightning rod for political controversy, still terrifi es and enthralls Americans. That Streep’s character only mouths the convictions that Clinton pur-ports to believe suggests the ultimate right- wing nightmare: if Clinton is a phony, then she is secretly not a liberal but, more horrifying, a conservative.

Tepidly received at the box offi ce and by reviewers, director Jonathan Demme’s Manchu-rian Candidate possibly suffers from the same problem affl icting The Contender : its dark worldview is too familiar to be disturbing. With the specter of infl ated Halliburton profi ts hovering over the Iraq war and the failure to fi nd weapons of mass destruction undermining the original justifi cation for the invasion, the Manchurian Global Corp. plot suggests busi-ness as usual. A woman masterminding the conspiracy would not shock anyone familiar with Condoleezza Rice’s prominence in George W. Bush’s administration.

The Iron Lady and Game Change

Streep returned to political fi lm in her Academy Award-winning turn as the fi rst British woman prime minister, Margaret Thatcher, in The Iron Lady (2011). From humble “grocer’s daughter from Grantham” to iron- willed woman of unprecedented political power, her life is presented in fl ashbacks cued by a conversation between elderly, semi- senile Thatcher and her recently dead husband, Denis (Jim Broadbent). With faintly protruding teeth and a hard- swept hairdo to match her character’s nickname, Streep inhabits every inch of the role, providing subtle depth to a formidable political player. Given how polarizing Thatcher’s ten-ure was, however, the biopic itself is restrained. In trying to humanize the three- term Tory, the fi lm pays meager attention to what she did and how she did it: crushing unions, capital-izing on Labor Party infi ghting, winning the Falkland Islands war with Argentina, selling off or “privatizing” many state- owned industries (airlines, utilities, etc.), and driving the conservative agenda at home and abroad, shoulder- to- shoulder with men like her personal favorite, American president Ronald Reagan.

The Iron Lady highlights both Thatcher’s belief that ideas are superior to feelings and her impatience with feminism—“It used to be about trying to do something,” she scoffs at a woman thanking her for her example. Yet the fi lm tends to dwell on those very issues by focusing on the drama of her private life at the expense of exploring her political skill and

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convictions. Disappointed reviews complained that The Iron Lady concerned a widow and a neglected mother who also just happened to have been one of the most powerful and conse-quential women of the twentieth century. The New York Times reviewer asked the obvious, “Would the life of a male politician be rendered this way?” 17

Illustrating her fi tness for offi ce by tracing her father’s lasting infl uence on her and emphasizing her proudly British stiff- upper- lip attitude toward foreign and domestic policy, the fi lm then casts her politics aside to get at the what- might- have- beens had she lived a more conventional late- twentieth- century woman’s life more devoted to children and hus-band and other traditional standards of feminine accomplishment, motivated less by ideas and more by, yes, feelings . Turning the feminist adage “the personal is the political” on its head, The Iron Lady makes the political personal and pays only obligatory attention to those most adversely affected by her free market priorities. At an event honoring women in the fi lm industry, Streep herself announced that Iron Lady cost $14 million to make and reaped more than $114 million at the box offi ce, proving that unlike recent tent- pole fl ops, small budgets can turn a big profi t. 18

The multiple Golden Globe Awards-winning HBO fi lm Game Change (2012) dramatizes the American 2008 presidential election from the point of view of the Republican candidates and their campaign staff. Ed Harris plays the presidential candidate, former Vietnam war POW and longtime Arizona senator John McCain, and Julianne Moore plays his running mate, fi rst- time Alaska governor and national political neophyte Sarah Palin. Game Change focuses on Palin’s rise, fall, and resurrection: from Republican Hail Mary pass to television

Meryl Streep won an Oscar playing Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher in The Iron Lady (2011), a very commercially successful political biopic. ( Courtesy of AP Images )

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joke to hustings favorite and rogue candidate with her own loyal following. Based on two prominent political journalists’ account of the race, Game Change reveals the behind- the- scenes calculus that led the McCain camp to choose Palin as a “game changer” who could steal the spotlight from Barack Obama, the nation’s fi rst African- American presidential can-didate. McCain’s campaign managers do not perform due diligence to determine Palin’s background and preparedness for the job. Instead, they recognize in her only what they want to see and blind themselves to potential pitfalls. The campaign “game” then “changes” in ways that McCain’s team fails to predict and is helpless to control. When Palin breaks free of their stage management, her political persona takes on a life of its own.

Game Change creates a documentary effect by seamlessly editing news footage into reen-actments of events like the Republican National Committee nominating convention, Palin’s interview with newscaster Katie Couric, and the vice presidential candidates’ debate. The Democratic candidates, for example, appear only in archival footage. This tack signifi cantly differs from the contrived framing of The Iron Lady ’s story and presents such remediated or meta- layered moments as Julianne Moore playing Sarah Palin watching Tina Fey imperson-ate Sarah Palin. (Even more so than Moore, Fey bears an uncanny likeness to Palin, adding to the ironic humor of her word- for- word renditions of Palin’s awkward comments.) For Obama supporters and conservatives dismayed by Palin’s thin résumé, Game Change vali-dates their criticisms with ample screen time devoted to her many shocking shortfalls as a candidate. McCain, on the other hand, emerges as a sympathetic and honorable man dealt a bad hand by the historic candidacy of his opponent.

Game Change fl ips the script on how overtly political fi lms present dominant female characters. A son deploying to Iraq, three daughters, a special needs baby, and a devoted high school sweetheart husband she calls “First Dude” all qualify Palin as patriotic mother

Julianne Moore plays Republican vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin on the verge of a breakdown in Game Change (2012).

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and traditional wife who also just happens to hold government offi ce. She is conventionally attractive. Her retro- styled hairdo, wireless glasses, and impeccably tailored jackets play off her “sexy librarian” look. Knowing that her youngest child had Down syndrome, she carried him full- term as her antiabortion position and the RNC platform dictated. (In fact, after she has come into her own, Palin refuses to share a stage with a pro- choice Republican, much to the McCain camp’s chagrin.) With antitax bona fi des earned as governor, Game Change ’s Palin is the dream candidate for every social and fi scal conservative voter. Yet meeting “traditional values” voters’ expectations with her personal life and talking the talk of the conservative economic, environmental, and foreign policy agenda are not enough. Her political behavior must also comport with expectations and here the fi lm’s Palin fails, putting her own reputation ahead of McCain’s and demanding the kind of decision- making power her appeal on the stump tells her she deserves.

A crowd- pleaser, Palin lacks basic knowledge about government policy and world his-tory. Photogenic, she fl ubs basic interview questions before a national audience, unable to name even one Supreme Court decision she disagrees with or daily newspaper she reads. McCain’s advisers, including Woody Harrelson as Steve Schmidt (“Stevie- boy” to McCain) and Sarah Paulson as Nicole Wallace, had urged McCain to choose Palin. Now they must tirelessly coach Palin to help their cherished boss recover from this unforced error. Midway through the fi lm, Schmidt admits he has not even told McCain “she doesn’t know anything.” What Palin doesn’t know includes the facts that, contrary to George W. Bush’s insinuations, Saddam Hussein was not responsible for the 9/11 attacks and that the queen of England is not the head of state. Palin pens stacks of notecards trying in days to cram an entire curricu-lum of history and civics lessons.

Her dawning awareness of her complete inadequacy for the job turns to unfounded fears about her appearance. As numerous people try to prep her for an upcoming interview, she is catatonic and refuses to answer questions, muttering that she misses sleeping with her baby. In a mirror shot, others fi x her hair and makeup as she stares unhappily at her refl ection. Irra-tionally she says she is tired of looking fat. She smears off the makeup and tugs at her shirt to make it less revealing. She screams she will not be the staff’s puppet. The camera empha-sizes her isolation even in group shots, as she alone seems to understand, if only in inchoate terms, the brutality of the media’s gaze on a woman’s body. In full- scale meltdown, her behavior causes aides to doubt her mental stability. Fearing the debate spells the Republi-cans’ doom, Schmidt has an epiphany: Palin does not have to actually “know anything”; she simply has to act as if she does. He rehearses her to be the greatest political actor, literally.

If The Contender said that a sexually promiscuous woman could not hold offi ce and The Iron Lady suggested that a woman in high offi ce by defi nition must be more “iron” than “lady,” Game Change announces that a virtuous woman with a lady’s home- life cannot hold offi ce unless she demonstrates both her ability and her willingness to read the script others write—to play “puppet.” Ebert’s review focuses on the tug of war: “Schmidt is a man driven by frustration as he tries to manage a campaign that Palin is trying to manage herself.” 19

Pairing campaign ability with political effectiveness marks the diffi culty many a would- be John F. Kennedy or Ronald Reagan faces in the age of 24/7 media coverage, regardless of gender. Game Change , however, pivots on the political feasibility of women in two ways. First, the fi lm’s documentary style underlines how vital visual appeal is to political power. The McCain team wanted a star to match Obama’s charisma and they found one. A woman’s physical appeal demands the kind of good looks Palin already enjoys. Once her intelligence

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is called into question, however, her confi dence in her attractiveness crumbles. She takes out her frustration on her body’s appearance as if to make it compensate for what her intellect lacks, losing pounds she cannot spare and buying expensive clothes she does not need and the campaign cannot afford. Second, rope- line scenes and rallies make clear how important it is to her candidacy that her constituency consider Palin one of them, a “hockey mom” with a pit bull’s tenacity for protecting her children. Yet the demands of campaigning sever her from those children and force her pregnant daughter into an ill- advised engagement to a young man Palin clearly dislikes. These contradictions deal a mental health blow Palin can-not withstand—until she wins the debate, sees how the conservative movement embraces her, and takes back the reins from McCain staffers like Wallace. (At the end, a teary Wallace admits that, knowing what she knew about Palin, she could not bring herself to vote.)

For his part, Harris’s McCain bears in his stunted body movements the scars of war, a once- upon- a- time requirement for offi ce abandoned in the 1992 victory of Bill Clinton over George H.W. Bush, a World War II hero. Unlike the physical and psychological diffi culties Palin experiences in maintaining the physical appearance that causes conservative pundits to swoon, McCain’s disfi gured body aids him in his quest. His POW past gives rise to Palin’s best debate line, “Only one man has fought for you and that is John McCain.” McCain also mentions the attacks on his adopted child lobbed by the George W. Bush primary campaign in 2000. Neither war injury nor campaign wound, however, topples McCain. He loses the election, yes, but his strength of character remains, if anything gaining added distinction in Game Change .

Palin, on the other hand, prefers jogging to debate rehearsal and will not be managed, down to the formal staging of the concession speech on election night. She wants to deliver remarks, enraging Schmidt. He considers her demand a slap in the face of the sacred tradi-tion of the transfer of power from one president to the next. Her newfound confi dence in her political prowess appears Frankenstein- like, leaving in agonized disgust the very people who handpicked her for the national stage. Game Change ’s Palin is an empty but still beauti-fully tailored suit with an unmatched ability to infl ame the very passions McCain calls the ugly side of American populism.

Palin’s opportunistic and callow politics linger to the end. She knows “she doesn’t know anything,” but that self- awareness hardly bothers her. McCain resists launching personal attacks, but Palin relishes them. At the same time, she feels unfairly demonized when the media questions personal facts in confl ict with the narrative she is trying to craft. Her popu-larity in certain circles leads her to believe she can spin those facts however she likes. After all, experience has shown her that in politics, perception trumps reality every time. McCain urges her to take responsibility for the moral direction of the party, but, dazzled by the bright lights of her own political and fi nancial future, Palin barely hears him.

Women in the movies have most often been consigned to subservient roles, but these roles have evolved with the place of women in the home, the workplace, and beyond. Occasion-ally those roles have been evocative of equality with and even mastery over men, but more typically the lesson of Hollywood fi lms is that, for women, with great power comes great humiliation or punishment. The number of overtly political movies with prominently fea-tured women in positions of sanctioned political authority is woefully small, their plots often predictable. Recent examples tend to explore that possibility more regularly than those of the distant past. Yet in any era, popular fi lms equate political viability for women with sexual virtue and circumscribed behavior. Should characters meet those tests, as Meryl Streep’s

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Margaret Thatcher does, they earn that power at the price of a personal life marred by regret—in Thatcher’s case, at what might have been had she been a more traditional mother to particularly her son who never appears as an adult in the fi lm. Some, like Julianne Moore’s Sarah Palin, clear the sexual virtue and traditional woman hurdles only to trip over man-agement of their image by the political establishment. They exhibit behavior that reminds everyone they are only human after all, with complicated lives and minds of their own, not the living embodiments of abstract, patriotic femininity that some viewers- as- voters pre-sumably think—or Hollywood imagines they think—they want.

Notes

1 . “American Women,” Library of Congress, http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/awhhtml/awmi10/silent_camera.html. See also, Women Film Pioneers Project, Columbia University, https://wfpp.cdrs.columbia.edu/.

2 . Stephen Heath, The Sexual Fix (London: Macmillan, 1982), p. 85. 3 . Women Film Pioneers Project. 4 . Originally published in Variety on July 21, 1926, this review of Her Honor The Governor is avail-

able at the website devoted to the fi lm’s star, Pauline Frederick, by Stanford University, http://web.stanford.edu/~gdegroat/PF/reviews/hhtg.htm.

5 . Ibid. 6 . “Democratic Unconvention in ‘The Gorgeous Hussy,’” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/

movie/review?res=9A0CE3D7143CE53ABC4D53DFBF66838D629EDE. 7 . “‘Farmer’s Daughter,’ Mixture of Romance and Politics,” New York Times , http://movies.nytimes.

com/movie/review?res=9E00E0DA113EEE3BBC4E51DFB566838C659EDE. 8 . “Rosie Pictures: Select Images Relating to American Women Workers During World War II,”

Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Reading Room, www.loc.gov/rr/print/list/126_rosi.html#posters.

9 . Raymond Chandler, quoted in The Literature Film Reader: Issues of Adaptation , ed. James M. Welsh and Peter Lev (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2007), p. 205.

10 . Jeanine Basinger, American Cinema: One Hundred Years of Filmmaking (New York: Rizzoli, 1994), p. 150.

11 . Peter Lehman and William Luhr, Thinking About Movies , 2nd ed. (Oxford, UK: Blackwell, 2003), p. 13.

12 . Roger Ebert, “Fatal Attraction,” www.rogerebert.com/reviews/disclosure- 1994. Emphasis added. 13 . “Baby Boom,” BBC, www.bbc.co.uk/fi lms/2001/04/12/baby_boom_1987_review.shtml. 14 . “Ms. 45,” Rotten Tomatoes, www.rottentomatoes.com/m/ms_45/. 15 . “Thelma and Louise,” Washington Post , www.washingtonpost.com/wp- srv/style/longterm/

movies/videos/thelmalouiserkempley_a0a10c.htm. 16 . Roger Ebert, “The Contender,” www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the- contender- 2000. 17 . “Polarizing Leader Fades into the Twilight,” New York Times , http://movies.nytimes.com/2011/12/

30/movies/the- iron- lady- about- margaret- thatcher- review.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0. 18 . “Meryl Streep Celebrates Women in Film,” Vanity Fair , www.vanityfair.com/online/oscars/

2012/06/meryl- streep- women- in- fi lm- crystal- lucy- awards- 2012 19 . Roger Ebert, “Game Change,” www.rogerebert.com/rogers- journal/the- greatest- actress- in-

american- political- history.

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White House Down? Politics in Disaster

White House Down (2013)

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In 2012–2013 alone, Hollywood released two fi lms featuring the annihilation of the U.S. capital in Olympus Has Fallen (2012) and White House Down (2013), as well as a string of disaster, apocalyptic, and postapocalyptic movies, including Dredd (2012), The Dark Knight Rises (2012), Elysium (2013), The Hunger Games (2012) and its sequel, Catching Fire (2013), Oblivion (2013), After Earth (2013), Pacifi c Rim (2013), and World War Z (2013). Romances and comedies cashed in on the doomsday craze in Seeking a Friend for the End of the World (2012), This Is the End (2013), The World’s End (2013), and the teen romance How I Live Now (2013). Dubbing the trend “Cinema Apocalyptica,” the New York Times noted, “We have placed our modern anxieties inside the particle accelerator of block-buster Hollywood with contemporary computer effects to contemplate the obliteration of the universe on the big screen” in fi lms that “have the scope and prestige of a maturing genre.” 1 Despite this trend and the renewed popularity of the study of genre fi lms, the disaster fi lm genre, including the “maturing” apocalyptic fi lms under its wide umbrella, has received relatively little critical attention. The political implications of the genre have been even less thoroughly considered. Yet the coincidence of recent American federal government dys-function, shifting American military deployments abroad, the disaster- apocalyptic movie resurgence, and the topical intersections these phenomena share together point to a fi lm genre hardly indifferent to matters of politics and government. Recognizing that confl uence, this chapter looks at popular disaster genre fi lms in the political context of their times to consider how they translate political discourse into cinematic language. 2

To begin: what is a disaster movie and what political assumptions tend to fuel this genre? The Library of Congress genre guide defi nes the disaster fi lm as a

fi ctional work depicting a large- scale natural or man- made calamity, such as an airplane crash or a wreck at sea, which isolates a group of people in imminent danger. They must devise at least part of their method of escape (sometimes outside assistance awaits) with only minimal materials at hand. Principle source of tension is in the question of how the extraordinary measures necessary for a rescue will be implemented and which of the varied and often self- destructive characters will have the inner resources to endure the ordeal. 3

This basic defi nition accounts for the Darwinian impulse in the history of the disaster genre as a survival of the most socially, psychologically, and physically adaptable. It also high-lights how the genre contrasts established civilization as a place of comfort and predictability with the wild, harrowing new world faced by disaster survivors. In this gap between old and new worlds, ideology most reliably reveals itself, as these genre fi lms valorize some char-acter behaviors and inner resources over others by choosing who lives and who dies, how, and why.

One of the most successful disaster fi lms of any era, The Poseidon Adventure (1972) pits young, liberal- minded Reverend Scott, played by Gene Hackman, against a traditional church elder, the chaplain, fi rst in an argument over church doctrine and then in Scott’s risky decision to lead a fl ock of survivors to the bottom, now the top, of the capsized ship. The chaplain waits passively with the injured and fear- fi lled passengers for help that never comes while Scott bucks even the remaining crew’s command to stay put. The fi lm rewards Scott’s rebellion against ship hierarchy and church doctrine when his instincts prove correct, and he exhorts his followers “to let God know that you have the guts and the will to do it alone.” In the end, however, Scott must sacrifi ce himself, Christ- like, so his followers live.

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His leadership role and death temper the fi lm’s support for rebellion, reinserting his story into a familiar patriarchal Christian outline.

At a more elemental level, Maurice Yacowar describes the essence of the disaster genre this way: “a situation of normalcy erupts into a persuasive image of death.” 4 Elaborating this core component, he lists eight “basic types” of disaster fi lm—natural attack, ship of fools, city fails, the monster, survival, war, the comic, the historical—while acknowledging that the types can overlap both with each other and with other genres. Yacowar also enumerates a set of genre conventions. Chronological time is the present or foreseeable future so the “threatened soci-ety is ourselves. The disaster fi lm aims for the impact of immediacy.” 5 Scenes of spectacular destruction stand in for the iconography more readily located in the western, gangster, or even the politically overt fi lm with its White House settings or campaign props or elements of legis-lative mise- en- scène—a state house rotunda backdrop or a chamber of representatives gaveled into order in fi lms like Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939) or The Contender (2000). In the disaster fi lm, Yacowar says, a cross section of society is used to stand in for civilization at large. As a result, the disaster fi lm often dramatizes class confl ict. In The Poseidon Adventure , Scott locks horns with retired cop Rogo in a clash pitting educated, white- collar confi dence against working- class, blue- collar brawn. When the U.S. president and a former soldier- turned- bodyguard join together in White House Down to fi ght an enemy from the president’s own security team, socioeconomic class disparities between the two increase tensions, provide comic relief, and nuance their racial difference—white soldier, black president. Like 1975’s Rollerball , the entire conceit of The Hunger Games franchise supposes that in a dystopian future a totalitarian regime rules over twelve impoverished districts and each year sponsors “The Hunger Games,” a dark take on Olympian spirit since each district’s “hungry” entrant fi ghts to the death. Punishment for a past uprising, the sport entertains the privileged. When the franchise’s hero, Katniss Everdeen, threatens to inspire the subsistence- living districts with an against- the- odds victory, the elite plot to fi nish her.

In other instances, a family acts as the microcosm of society. In this scenario, gender roles and psychosexual dynamics come to the fore. Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds (1963) exemplifi es this version with its look at the psychological underbelly of the otherwise “nor-mal” postwar American family. A Gothic visual idiom manifests 1960s- era concerns about the independence of women, patriarchal control, and family traditions when even a ritual as innocuous as a child’s birthday party turns into a maelstrom of dive- bombing birds appar-ently brought on by the intrusion of an unmarried San Francisco socialite, Melanie Daniels, into the conventionally rural lives of Bodega Bay’s Brenner family. 6 The family’s widowed mother, Lydia, wants her son, Mitch, to remain at home as patriarch, and he obliges, calling her “dear” and doing her chores. Mitch’s romantic attraction to the scandalous, motherless, desiring Melanie threatens Lydia and makes visible her mix of Oedipal desire and traditional expectations. Mitch rescues Melanie from gory bird attacks in the attic of Lydia’s home after elided scenes imply the two have had sex. Soon after, the devastated but recomposed family quietly fl ees as countless birds line an apocalyptic horizon. Mitch takes the driver’s seat as a bandaged, traumatized Melanie falls limp in Lydia’s arms. The fi lm persecutes its 1960s unmarried, sexually active heroine with dark “madwoman in the attic” imagery and, in the war over Mitch, declares repressed, socially conservative Lydia the winner, further punish-ing Melanie by positing Lydia as her new mother.

Memorably evoked in the shrill squawks of the milling birds massed beneath an explosive sky in The Birds ’ fi nal frames, the disaster fi lm is, in Yacowar’s words, “predicated on the idea

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of isolation,” regardless of the group featured. 7 No one is coming to save the imperiled, espe-cially not any offi cial state body like the army, the police, or the National Guard. The survivors must rely on themselves alone. More pertinently, Yacowar says “all systems fail in the disaster. Politicians are corrupt . . . The church is usually absent . . . The police are either absent or skep-tical about anything beyond the familiar.” 8 Frequently, the political message of the disaster fi lm is systemic failure. After all, disaster fi lms are about what is going or has gone terribly wrong. By defi nition, they frequently imply or even strongly mount an inevitably negative critique of a political or economic or defense system that has created the disaster—or in its ineptitude or corruption has allowed it to occur and cannot or will not anticipate or solve it.

A half century ago in the era of the civil rights, women’s liberation, and anti- Vietnam War movements, American satisfaction with government policy and institutions like the courts was a typically conservative position. Agitation against government and existing law was a typically liberal stance. Today, deep dissatisfaction with the status quo may often align with both political extremes, liberal or conservative. While ideologically conservative, strong messages supporting individualism nonetheless frequently appeal to many segments of the political spectrum. Those messages that stress the idea of government failure tend to play especially well to political conservatives and libertarians like former U.S. Congressman Ron Paul and his son, Senator Rand Paul. How individual disaster movies depict causes of and societal response to the “persuasive image of death” becomes an integral part of their importance and message of political critique.

Camp and Allegory

The disaster genre fi ction fi lm also raises questions of taste. So closely identifi ed with their 1950s B- movie forebears and the predictability and camp appeal of their 1970s heyday, even today when disaster headlines the news every other day and fear of the end- times makes it

At the end of The Birds (1963), menacing birds crowd the frame; squawks, cries, and the sound of their fl uttering wings replace the fi lm’s score as the sky cleaves, underscoring the fl eeing survivors’ isolation.

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into mainstream news reports, many twenty- fi rst- century disaster movies acknowledge their lineage in fl ashes of self- reference and parody. In The Core (2003), when earth’s interior “stops spinning,” Hitchcockian swarms of crazed birds attack London (with a fi sh or two thrown in for those paying close attention). To demonstrate that if action is not taken “the earth will be cooked,” Aaron Eckhart’s Dr. Keyes uses an aerosol can to light a peach ablaze before an auspicious audience of military brass and Dr. Zimsky, played by Stanley Tucci looking very much like Peter Sellers in Dr. Strangelove or: How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Bomb (1964). Yet the comparison serves up laughs without inching the fi lm closer to Dr. Strangelove ’s political satire, and popular press fi lm critic Roger Ebert recalls the scene with fondness: “To watch Keyes and the generals contemplate that burnt peach is to witness a scene that cries out from its very vitals to be cut from the movie and made into ukulele picks. Such goofi ness amuses me.” 9 When one offi cer puffs himself up to say, “Can’t isn’t in my vocabulary,” Dr. Keyes earnestly tells him he had better get “a new word- a- day calendar,” a retort typical of his self- serious one- liners. Later, a miracle material needed to fi x the core’s deadly problem is dubbed “unobtanium.” As Ebert concludes, “ The Core is not exactly good, but it knows what a movie is. It has energy and daring and isn’t afraid to make fun of itself.” 10

Recent disaster fi lms also ward off audience skepticism and distance themselves from cheap genre identifi cation by diving headlong into boldly confi gured, bleak allegory. Adapted from Cormac McCarthy’s novel of the same title, The Road (2009) takes place after an unspecifi ed apocalypse wipes out most of the civilized world, leaving behind a damaged ecosystem with no plant or animal life, a permanently blocked sun, and rampant fi res and earthquakes. Like Aeneas and his father Anchises in Virgil’s classical epic The Aeneid , who, after the devastating fall of Troy, travel far and rough to fulfi ll their destiny and found a new civilization, The Road ’s nameless, emblematic father and son head south on foot through a dead, ash- colored land-scape, hunted by roaming bands of desperate survivors turned thieving cannibals. As soot falls like snow from the sky and charred bodies strew the way, Father and Son slog toward warm

The Road (2009) fi lmed its postapocalyptic nightmare in the dregs of a postindustrial, strip- mined present- day Midwest with Father and Son (Viggo Mortensen, Kodi Smit- McPhee) doing whatever they can to survive.

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coastal waters and, they hope, a new life. Aeneas evocatively, memorably carries his father on his back, but only one of them survives the journey. So, too, in The Road the older generation must be sacrifi ced or even purged at sea’s edge to secure a truly fresh start for the survivors. Father’s death suggests the sliver of hope that whatever mistakes led to the apocalypse will not be the errors Son’s new society makes.

For all its father– son focus, however, The Road ’s sharpest political point is not a warn-ing that western civilization might fail in the ugliest of ways after an apocalypse but that dehumanizing ecological decay is occurring now. 11 Shot explicitly “for realism” in the aban-doned coalfi elds, deserted freeways, and postindustrial wastelands of the Pittsburgh area, The Road suggests that the apocalypse has happened. Fitting what Yacowar’s foundational study described as the aim of “immediacy,” The Road says the present world is already in decline. 12

In Children of Men (2006), the year is 2027 and the world’s population has become infer-tile. Homelessness, hunger, lack of utilities, rampant violence, and martial law impoverish life worldwide, but none more so than the lack of children, the last one having been born eighteen years earlier. The scene that reveals the one woman miraculously with child takes place in a barn with animals and straw all around, underlining the mythic signifi cance of her conception. Reminiscent of her biblical counterpart Mary, Kee is a poor refugee at a time when immigrants are feared and despised, yet she holds the “key” to the future, and the man who helps her is named Theo, another hint to the religious allegory at work.

Importantly, however, in most contemporary disaster- apocalyptic fi lms, religion remains a fi gurative backdrop and not a literal cause of, or intervention in, apocalyptic events. As one critic notes, the role of Theo as the reminder of the divine refl ects the secularization of modern apocalyptic fi lms. Adding further irony to his role, Theo is fully human, yet he joins in efforts to save and restore humanity and greets Kee’s pregnancy with a hushed “Jesus

The apocalyptic Children of Men (2006) reveals in a barn that immigrant refugee Kee (Clare- Hope Ashitey) is pregnant after eighteen years of worldwide infertility.

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Christ.” He becomes one of the fi lm’s many “children of men” to sacrifi ce themselves for humanity’s literal and metaphoric rebirth. 13 Like The Road , this fi lm invokes the- apocalypse- is- here message with images lifted directly from the torture practiced by U.S. soldiers at the infamous Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq. It also concludes uncertainly with a promising image: Kee crossing the sea in a rough- hewn boat to a larger vessel named The Tomorrow .

These contemporary tendencies—humorous self- references in The Core , secular allegory in The Road, and biblical imagery accompanied by contemporary inter- textual references in Children of Men —suggest a self- defensive genre in danger of tipping into unintentional par-ody and dismissed as camp and exaggerated self- consciousness. In this context, the political value of intentional camp is joyful indifference rife with comic pessimism. As suggested by 2013’s television summer movie Sharknado ’s tagline, “Enough said,” the object of these fi lms’ attention is the genre itself, not the political philosophy issues at stake in sober exam-ples like Stephen Soderbergh’s Contagion (2011), about a pandemic deadly virus, or the class politics behind Neill Blomkamp’s Elysium , about a future unbridgeable gap between a ruined earth where the ordinary struggle and the space station where the very wealthy thrive. The Core makes fun of itself, not governments stumped by the core’s failure to “spin.” Unlike political satire, self- parody in these fi lms takes for granted a failed, even fl ailing political system, diminishing their political effect.

Blueprint Disaster Films

Five Came Back

It was not always so. With releases like The Wizard of Oz , Gone With the Wind , Mr. Smith Goes to Washington , and The Hunchback of Notre Dame , 1939 is widely regarded as a

Children of Men (2006) features a detention center with prisoners posed like the abused and tortured detainees at the infamous Abu Ghraib prison run by American soldiers in Iraq.

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pinnacle year for classical Hollywood movies. Among them: a template for disaster fi lms to come, the often overlooked Five Came Back . Debuting along with the seminal western Stagecoach , Five Came Back shares with that John Ford classic a basic “ship of fools” and “road of life” premise, with character actor John Carradine appearing in both. Set in a nos-talgic version of the mid- nineteenth century, Stagecoach throws together a drunken doctor, a prostitute, the notorious Ringo Kid, a pregnant woman, and a gambler and sends them through the Wild West just as Geronimo is on the warpath. Filmed in Monument Valley with cowboys and Indians and wide- skirted women, the fi lm features defi nitive western iconog-raphy with setting and themes to match. Yet in the name of manifest destiny its cross section of society negotiates not so much means to survival as the boundaries of law and civilization in the unsettled territory.

As Five Came Back ’s title advertises, the classic disaster- driven dilemma at its broadly political climax occurs when a plane carrying twelve crashes in a hostile jungle and the repaired engine can carry only fi ve back. Developed as a B picture, Five Came Back suc-ceeded beyond studio expectations thanks to sharp writing by acclaimed novelist- screenwriter Nathanael West and Academy Award-winning, former blacklisted writer Dalton Trumbo. Its popularity also speaks to how original this politically incisive, prewar, blueprint disaster fi lm was.

In the 1930s, when fl ight travel was still exotic, nine passengers (socially diverse by Hol-lywood standards of the time) board an airliner bound for South America. With suave Bill and blue- collar Joe as pilots and a young steward named Larry, the plane only just accom-modates everyone. The fl ight manifest includes a secretive young couple who turn out to be eloping; a racketeering gangster’s little boy, Tommy, sent away for safekeeping with his father’s top man; Peggy, a woman with a past; an elderly professorial couple; a political pris-oner, Vazquez, being deported back to the country that will hang him; and his armed escort, the mercenary Crimp.

The plane hits a storm, rocking and jolting until little Tommy hits the fl oor. When Larry rushes to assist, he is sucked out the plane’s cabin door—a very sudden eruption of “persua-sive death.” In the mayhem, Vazquez surreptitiously steals Crimp’s gun, the pilots crash- land, and the fi lm really begins: how will they fare cut off from civilization with limited supplies? Will the rumored headhunters get them or will infi ghting and/or a modern inability to adapt to the jungle cause their demise?

Fairly quickly, Five Came Back makes clear that jungle law, Thomas Hobbes’s “war of all against all,” dictates that for this group to survive their cohesion must supersede the exercise of personal liberty. The fi lm enacts the political philosopher’s social contract: an agreement forged among individuals that necessitates they relinquish certain liberties for the sake of benefi ts that can only be obtained through cooperation. The group effort also demands hier-archy. As Bill puts it, there has to be a “boss.” If anyone refuses to consent to hierarchy or his or her place within it, the emblem of the gun makes clear that person has no other real choice. To signal the importance of enforcing the compact, Vazquez turns over Crimp’s gun to Bill. The gun boasts more than symbolic value; as Bill warns Crimp, “Don’t make us waste any bullets on you. We might need ’em for food.” At the same time, only those trusted to act on behalf of the group and not only for themselves are allowed the authoritarian role and the means of enforcing it, the gun.

With drumbeats creeping subtly closer and dead bodies the sign of things to come, Joe and Bill get the engine repaired. Though eight adults remain, the single repaired engine will

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carry only fi ve. Bill volunteers to stay and Peggy, sweet on Bill, follows suit, saying, “I’m pretty fed up with things outside. I don’t care much what happens.” By labeling civilization “outside,” Peggy’s words imply that “inside” the actual jungle, the group’s organization offers better means for her success than the social economy she exited at the demand of a lover. Surprising everyone, Vazquez pulls his gun and announces, “I will stay. Now some of you want to live; others deserve to. But the question cannot be decided emotionally. It’s got to be decided by cold hard logic. I am the only one you can depend on to decide things logically. I am the law now.” Again, the fi lm places political prisoner Vazquez at its political center as he wields the gun in the name of logical righteousness, not self- preservation.

With the plane safely aloft, the political prisoner assures the professor that three bul-lets remain. A close- up on the chamber reveals only two. The professor says to Vazquez simply, “When she’s not looking,” and shortly after, Vazquez fi res two shots as the elderly couple embraces. The camera then pans, tilts, and dollies through the surrounding trees to close on suggestive medium shots of bare feet drawing closer. By omitting full shots of the headhunters, the fi lm implies that the jungle, populated not by Rousseau’s “noble savages” but animated by Hobbesian forces that make life “nasty, brutish and short,” will fi nish off Vazquez. He sacrifi ces everything to preserve in rescue not anyone in particular but the only decent organization of people—or government—he has ever known. Dispatching by gun one rogue character who tried to board the plane without the group’s approval and mercy killing Martha without her knowledge or consent also equates Vazquez to the fascists he opposed in his home country. He embodies law as defi ned by his personal judgment and enforced at the end of a gun. Even so, the arc of Vazquez’s character in the fi lm’s pre- World War II context, like Peggy’s transposition of “outside” with life back home, also expresses political idealism.

Pitch Black (2000) and the resulting “Riddick” fi lm ( Chronicles of Riddick , 2004; Rid-dick , 2013; another scheduled for 2015), animation ( Chronicles of Riddick: Dark Fury , 2004), and video game ( Chronicles of Riddick: Escape from Butcher Bay ; Chronicles of Riddick: Assault on Dark Athena ) franchise follow this blueprint. Political prisoner Vazquez is now dangerous escaped convict Richard Riddick, and the South American jungle has been replaced by an inhospitable planet scorched by the light of three suns and inhabited by fl esh- eating creatures that emerge once every twenty- two years when the suns dim and the planet is plunged into darkness. Played by the Fast and Furious franchise action star Vin Diesel, Riddick has surgically enhanced eyes that can see in the dark. While the other survivors of the space- wreck fi rst feared Riddick (as Five Came Back ’s survivors were suspicious of Vazquez), now they need him and depend upon a thin alliance with him.

The sequels continue Riddick’s sci- fi trials in space, his outlaw status repeatedly chal-lenged by his he- man, do- the- right- thing instincts. Riddick’s combination of criminality and heroism parallels the racial ambiguity of Vin Diesel’s star image, what he calls “my mystery” and “chameleon- like ethnicity.” 14 While Five Came Back and its postwar remake Back From Eternity (1956) tested democratic and social contract ideals within a crucible of fascism, the Riddick franchise turns on the popularity of Vin Diesel and his surprising feasibility as a replacement for aging white action stars like Harrison Ford and Bruce Willis. In place of their alignment of nationalism and patriotism with whiteness in fi lms like Air Force One (1996) featuring Ford as an action- hero- president and Die Hard (1988) star-ring Willis in iconic white undershirt as an action- hero- cowboy- detective, Diesel’s avowed multiculturalism has led critics to hail him as “the fi rst truly All- American action hero.” As

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one Hollywood director put it, “It has taken America a long time to acknowledge the new face of America . . . Vinny is that new face.” 15 Diesel’s savvy positioning on a blurred racial continuum represents America’s cultural assimilation and capitalist tendencies, where the necessity of ethnic identity becomes both self- determined and a commodity. Of greatest political signifi cance, Diesel’s “face of America” heralded Barack Obama’s political appeal and eventual ascension to the presidency.

Contagion (2011) replaces the Hobbesian jungle of Five Came Back and Pitch Black ’s fl esh- eating aliens with a world pandemic. Its killer virus strikes people in urban and rural areas—Hong Kong, Chicago, Guangdong Province, Tokyo, and so on. Despite its global setting, the terms of the social contract and the question of knowing whom to trust when disaster has both erased social rules and weakened decided law defi ne this fi lm, too. Played by Laurence Fishburne, Dr. Ellis Cheever of the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) provides special treatment to a loved one. When a character of lesser means and no CDC- level connec-tions fi nds out, he reminds Cheever, “We all got people, Doc.” As death and civic breakdown spread, cities eventually declare martial law, a tactic that suburbanites emulate as survivors arm themselves with shotguns against looters and friends alike. Such federal, state, and pri-vate military- style crackdowns resonate with the enforcement of the social contract by gun in Five Came Back and “society’s” reluctant reliance on outlaw Riddick in Pitch Black .

With the taglines “Nothing spreads like fear” and “Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t touch anyone,” Contagion treats rumor like an infection and disease like a weapon. When a home-land security offi cer asks, “Can bird fl u be weaponized?” another gruffl y replies, “Birds are already doing that.” The contagion is also a social and moral leveler: a woman cheating on her husband and a selfl ess doctor both die the same horrifi c death. Yet the fi lm also suggests, if not outright collusion, a powerful interdependence between military and government command, medical and corporate science, high fi nance, and media technology. The rogue blogger of “Truth Serum” draws that alliance into relief as he accuses all sides of conspiracy and deceit only to be revealed as a charlatan. Despite Contagion ’s depiction of the virus’s global reach and global “viral” information sharing, certain racial ideologies abide: in a remote area of China, a village ransoms a CDC doctor for vaccines. In this exchange, one western doctor is worth the lives of many rural peasants. Armed and barricaded in his home with a stark white interior, the character naturally immune to the disease is Mitch Emhoff, a white man from the snowy Nordic state of Minnesota. With such details the fi lm suggests that western whiteness will prevail even against a “weaponized” virus that knows no geo-graphic, racial, or national boundaries.

King Kong

The 1930s produced a classic disaster fi lm combining Yacowar’s “natural attack” and “the monster” types in the pre- Code hit and source of several remakes, King Kong (1933). It was directed by Merian C. Cooper and Earnest B. Shoedsack, two veteran fi lmmakers of ethnographic travel documentaries, who were infl uenced by popular jungle adventure fi lms like Tarzan, the Ape Man (1932) and by horror movies like Dracula (1931) and Franken-stein (1931). They took their experience exploring the customs and cultures of remote and therefore “exotic” people and, together with special effects pioneer William O’Brien ( The Lost World , 1925), concocted one of the most famous and infl uential myths ever to light up the screen.

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Set during the Depression, King Kong features movie director Carl Denham setting sail with a fi lm crew and a newly recruited starving blonde actress, Ann Darrow (Faye Wray), to a secret, mist- shrouded spot in the Pacifi c called Skull Island—a hint at the prehistoric. Denham hopes to capture on fi lm a rumored giant ape called Kong. In place of a gun he points his camera, but like a gun the camera proves a potent symbol of power and aggres-sion. The island intruders encounter a ceremonial sacrifi ce to the beast. The natives capture Ann to sacrifi ce and allow Kong to abscond with her into his primeval jungle, deep into an island that evolution has bypassed. (Ann’s last name alludes to Clarence Darrow, the 1925 Scopes trial lawyer who defended the teaching of evolution in public schools.) Seaman Jack Driscoll and Denham rescue Darrow but lose a few men to unfathomably steep canyons and prehistoric creatures—“Something from the dinosaur family,” says Denham. Once they res-cue her, Denham does not hesitate to capture Kong using Ann as bait and take him back to New York to display for profi t. Disaster ensues when modern civilization and “chains made of chrome steel!” cannot contain an agitated Kong, who is obsessed with Darrow, and he escapes to run riot through the streets of New York in search of her. Death and destruction follow until his fi nal famous last stand atop the Empire State Building, gripping Darrow in one hand as with the other he fi ghts airplanes and gunfi re to his death. Denham announces, “It was beauty killed the beast.”

Historically, King Kong has been politically critiqued through the prism of race. 16 From this perspective the giant ape presents a racist fantasy about black male heterosexuality shoved into overdrive at the mere sight of a potent Hollywood icon, the white blonde dam-sel in distress. Since D.W. Griffi th, popular fi lm depictions of black men have frequently used animal imagery to portray inferiority to whites and an attraction to white women both instinctive and dangerous. The fi lm’s horror derives from giant Kong but also from fears of miscegenation represented by his obsession with Ann.

The plot suggests slavery when King Kong is forcibly abducted from Skull Island, brought in chains to America, and then displayed in chains like a slave at auction on the theatrical stage, where Denham plans to exploit him for pure profi t. As he explains, “We’ll give him more than chains. He’s always been king of his world, but we’ll teach him fear.” Taming Kong to acculturate him to Western civilization means instilling in him the fear that all audiences—in and of the movie—have of him as Other. Denham’s slaveholder logic means Kong must internalize the fear everyone has of him and transpose it into his fear of everyone else. Then Kong will see that in the new hierarchy he is not the king with inferiors to appease him with sacrifi cial virgins but the captive with no ability to act on his own will, only the need to subordinate himself. Finally, as Denham makes plain, what kills Kong is not an army defending the city or enforcing laws against his crimes. Harboring lust in his heart for a white woman kills Kong.

Besides its oft- remarked racism, King Kong registers public anxiety over the growing sexual emancipation of women and the meaning of the blonde “beauty” to national myths about race and virtue. In this scenario, women are helpless, white victims while Kong rep-resents a palpably racial and genetic Other. Given its starkest, most memorable expression in King Kong , this politically loaded racial dynamic threads its way throughout American history and popular culture. Most closely, 1933’s King Kong echoes the earlier actual case of Jack Johnson. The fi rst black heavyweight champion and African- American pop culture icon, Johnson was imprisoned ostensibly for transporting a prostitute from Pittsburgh to Chicago. In fact, he fell victim to a witch hunt spurred by public outrage over his marriages

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to white women. Legally, the case against him was based on the Mann Act’s prohibition on transporting women across state lines for “immoral purposes.” As recently as spring 2013, the Senate voted to urge a presidential pardon for Johnson. In 2006, basketball star LeBron James was the fi rst black man to appear on the cover of Vogue . He was posed in a crouch, his mouth open in a growl; one hand clutched a ball and the other, smiling blonde Gisele Bundchen. Cries of racism greeted the image. As USA Today reported, “James strikes what some see as a gorilla- like pose, baring his teeth. . . . It is an image some have likened to King Kong and Fay Wray.” 17 King Kong ’s barely concealed myth of animal- like, dangerous black men hard- wired to desire white women as trophies endures.

The 1970s remake uses the King Kong disaster tale and its racial dynamics to promote a direct political message fi tting the pressing issues of its time—fossil fuel. The updated King Kong (1976) still capitalizes on the chemistry Kong feels for the Ann Darrow character, now named Dwan and played by then- unknown starlet Jessica Lange. But the more pertinent political dynamic informing the fi lm is the energy crisis that eventually helped bring down the presidency of Jimmy Carter in 1980. Denham’s role now belongs to Fred Wilson, an executive of the oil company Petrox Corporation, and the movie begins when he sets sail to explore for oil on an uncharted Indian Ocean isle. Sailor Jack Driscoll is now paleontolo-gist Jack Prescott. Convinced that a mysterious beast inhabits the island, he sneaks aboard to check it out for himself. Along the way the boat picks up aspiring actress Dwan, uncon-scious and adrift in a lifeboat. Once they reach the island, the crew happens upon a primitive people with rituals that revolve around their god, Kong. Coincidentally, Wilson realizes that the island’s oil is too low- grade to be profi table. The natives capture Dwan, bedeck her with ceremonial ornament, and stake her to the altar for Kong. On cue, Kong arrives and takes Dwan back to the jungle with him; Prescott leads a crew to rescue her.

Once Wilson realizes his oil venture is a bust, he devises a new plan to capture Kong and exploit him as a Petrox promotional gimmick. The fi lm plays out much like the original with the evocative difference that Kong fi ghts his fi nal battle atop the twin towers of the World Trade Center in Manhattan, the monument to capitalism destroyed in the terror attacks of 9/11. In an eerie moment of prescient fi lm fantasy, Kong gets hit with fl amethrowers from the other tower and retaliates by hurling a tank that explodes into fl ames. Reminiscent of the violence of 9/11, one of the fi lm’s posters features Kong astride the towers, a fl aming tanker in one hand and a much harder to spot and therefore sexually downplayed Dwan in the other. The showmanship gimmickry of the original King Kong gives way here to a politics of cyni-cism toward corporatism and a rapacious oil industry seeking to suck every drop of fossil fuel out of the earth. Disapproval of Wilson is most pronounced at the climax when Kong tramples Wilson underfoot. His demise is gruesome camp.

The original Earth Day took place in 1970, when more than 20 million protesters across the country demanded regulation of industrial pollution. So began the contemporary envi-ronmental movement that led to the creation of the federal Environmental Protection Agency and legislation like the Clean Air Act and the Clean Water Act. In this political context, Prescott represents the 1970s “earth movement,” attentive to the fragile natural world and its limited resources. Wilson represents anti- regulation, pro- business interests that demand unrestrained access to those resources. Next to Prescott and even Denham, Wilson is the worst sort of capitalist. He is willing to exploit national crisis and the earth’s well- being for corporate gain that will redound to him personally.

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Lifeboat

In the 1940s, the outbreak of World War II dominated the nation’s political, economic, civic, and cultural life. Hollywood responded by abandoning the disaster genre—with a few excep-tions. Hitchcock’s wartime adaptation of the “ship of fools” setup, Lifeboat (1944), debuted to a mix of strong reactions about its politics. Variety hailed its “devastating indictment of the nature of Nazi bestiality,” 18 while the New York Times fretted, “Nazis, with some cutting here and there, could turn ‘Lifeboat’ into a whiplash against the ‘decadent democracies.’” 19

Lifeboat uses the “microcosm of society” conceit to propagandize against fascism and on behalf of democracy. When a German U- boat torpedoes a freighter, a cross section of English and American working- class and elite survivors huddle in a drifting lifeboat, coming to terms with each other’s socioeconomic class and political viewpoint in an effort to stay alive. Their plight stands for democracy in all its messiness and struggle. Eventually they rescue a German seaman. Pretending not to speak English, he exhibits superhuman strength, uncommon nautical and medical abilities, and a commanding personality. Gradually he takes control of the boat as the rest offer little resistance to his strength and purposefulness. Sym-bolically, democracy yields to fascism, and appeasement reigns. Reviewer Bosley Crowther wrote at its release, “It is this German, personifi cation of the Nazi creed, who proves to be the only competent leader in a boat full of ineffectuals.” 20 When they discover he is really the sunken U- boat’s captain, that he has ruthlessly culled their pathetic lot in superman fashion, and that he is secretly steering the vessel to rendezvous with a German supply ship, the once complacent mob turns on him.

Disputes between author John Steinbeck and director Hitchcock reveal more than clash-ing styles, Steinbeck’s detailed realism vs. Hitchcock’s high- gloss thrillers. They expose rival political visions of both the war and the nature of the society and government alle-gorized. Accounts of Lifeboat ’s genesis differ, but Steinbeck’s personal investment in the project seems to have derived primarily from his lifelong interest in the sea and a request by the Merchant Marines for a fi lm to showcase the importance of their wartime role, a propa-ganda task Steinbeck embraced. Hitchcock’s fi nal project, however, appalled Steinbeck so much he appealed to 20th Century Fox to remove his name from it:

While it is certainly true that I wrote a script for Lifeboat , it is not true that in that script as in the fi lm there were any slurs against organized labor nor was there a stock comedy Negro. On the contrary there was an intelligent and thoughtful seaman who knew realisti-cally what he was about. And instead of the usual colored travesty of the half comic and half pathetic Negro there was a Negro of dignity, purpose and personality. 21

Steinbeck wanted criticism for the fi lm’s offensive stereotyping and antilabor sentiment to go to Hitchcock, the last to revise the script. Sensitive to earlier criticism that his work was sympathetic to Nazis, Steinbeck also worried that the fi lm undermined the American cause: “Because the picture seems to me to be dangerous to the American war effort I request my name be removed from any connection with any showing of this fi lm.” 22 Others concurred. Again the New York Times review: “There remains the alarming implication, throughout all the action of this fi lm, that the most effi cient and resourceful man in this Lifeboat is the Nazi, the man with ‘a plan’ . . . . Obviously Mr. Hitchcock and Mr. Steinbeck failed to grasp just what they had wrought. They certainly had no intention of elevating the “superman”

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ideal . . . it is questionable whether such a picture, with such a theme, is judicious at this time.” 23

Hitchcock justifi ed his symbolic Allies putting their destiny in the Nazi’s hands as a wake- up call to the actual Allies to stop infi ghting and join forces to win the war. He also dis-missed the idea that the obvious physical and psychological superiority of his Nazi character validated the German “übermensch” theory of the political necessity of a strongman leader: “I always respect my villain, build him into a redoubtable character that will make my hero or thesis more admirable in defeating him or it.” 24 Demonstrating just how slippery politi-cal messaging in fi lm can be, Steinbeck and Hitchcock and the fi lm’s warring critics could not agree on just how and what the fi lm portrayed as propaganda. In this study of how the fi lm was received by popular critics, clearly the single issue conceded by all sides regarding the Lifeboat quarrel is that, good or bad, the portrayal of Nazis and the allegoric depiction of democracy versus fascism was of great consequence. That fi lms conveyed political mes-sages was beyond dispute.

Science Fiction B Pictures: Red Scare, Atomic Threats

On November 1, 1952, the United States exploded the world’s fi rst hydrogen bomb. Two weeks later, the Atomic Energy Commission begrudgingly confi rmed that “‘satisfactory’ experiments in hydrogen weapon research” had been completed in the Marshall Islands. The New York Times decoded the announcement, explaining that it came amid “informed specu-lation that this meant a super- atomic bomb had been exploded in recent United States tests” under a 1950 directive from President Truman pushing thermonuclear weapons research. The commission emphasized the need for armament: “In the presence of threats to the peace of the world and in the absence of effective and enforcement arrangements for the control of armaments, the United States Government must continue its studies looking toward the development of these vast energies for the defense of the free world.” Yet it also stressed nondestructive benefi ts: “At the same time, this Government is pushing with wide and grow-ing success its studies directed toward utilizing these energies for the productive purposes of mankind.” 25

Announced seven years after the atomic bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima in Japan and three years after the Soviets exploded their own atom bomb, this groundbreaking news cre-ated a dreadful yet tantalizing ambiguity as to what these “satisfactory” experiments might actually portend and a clear paradox. The United States was developing nuclear energy for “defensive” weaponry as well as for “the productive purposes of mankind.” Practical and moral uncertainty and science at cross- purposes with itself came to characterize the emerg-ing “nuclear age.”

Cue Hollywood. Between 1948 and 1962, the U.S. fi lm industry produced more than 500 science fi ction

features to wide release and box offi ce success. 26 While many of these featured comic- book plots and cartoonish effects, nameless stars, and cringe- inducing dialogue, their political signifi cance and infl uence on the disaster genre cannot be overstated. Their plots provided oblique depictions of Cold War and Red Scare political dynamics even as they fl ung the door open to apocalyptic scenarios unmoored from the political issues of the state of nature, or war of all against all.

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Even a director of the stature of Howard Hawks, with such genre classics to his name as the gangster hit Scarface (1932) and screwball comedy Bringing Up Baby (1938), tried his hand at disaster sci- fi with The Thing From Another World (1951). Scientists and U.S. Air Force researchers at a remote scientifi c military station in the Arctic discover a space capsule frozen within the ice. When they fi nd the pilot aboard, they take him back to their base only to realize when he accidentally thaws that he is an alien organism out for blood, and he will get it any way he can. In Invaders from Mars (1953, remade in 1986), a boy fi gures out that space aliens are colonizing peoples’ minds, turning even his parents into killers in an attempt to sabotage an atomic rocket under construction by the U.S. military. In Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956, multiple remakes), a small- town doctor realizes people have been replaced by alien duplicates, and in I Married A Monster From Outerspace (1958), aliens begin their takeover of the lives of unsuspecting humans by one alien switching places with a young bridegroom.

During President Reagan’s reenergized Cold War politics, several 1980s remakes of these fi lms doubled down on this kind of paranoia and the deceptive nature of interior threats. In John Carpenter’s update The Thing (1982), now set in the Antarctic, researchers confront a shape- shifting alien that manifests into the people that it kills, making it even more diffi cult to know friend from enemy, predator from prey, parent from psycho- killer, husband from monster. Whereas the original Invaders from Mars ends ambiguously—was it all a child’s dream?—the 1986 version, helmed by cult director Tobe Hooper, suggests more certainly in an off- screen scream the invasion’s inevitability.

In the 1950s and 1960s, fi lm catastrophes upped the stakes in the propaganda war by frequently featuring invasions and explosions of both geographical territory and interior landscapes of mind. Some literalized the confl ict with animated, autonomous brains taking possession of men. As the brains grow in size and power, the men turn into wild- eyed mass killers. Films as various as Donovan’s Brain (1953), The Brain from Planet Arous (1957), and The Brain (1963) follow this pattern. While these fi lms suggest the continued seeping of psychoanalysis into the popular imagination, the 1950s political context points more directly to the fear of propaganda as mind control and to anxiety about science trumping conscience. Yet as obvious as the message is about the need to counter Communist propa-ganda and to balance snowballing scientifi c discovery with ethical considerations, however, these fi lms could also be interpreted as latent critiques of their own agenda. “Just who is doing the brainwashing here and to what end?” they implicitly and appropriately ask. At the time these fi lms were screening, the American military was conducting secret experiments on healthy U.S. soldiers of “psychochemicals” to temporarily incapacitate the mind, induce delirium, or, as one army offi cer described it, cause “selective malfunctioning of the human machine.” 27 Disaster mind control fi lms, a conceit ramped even further in such examples as The Brain Eaters (1958) and The Brain That Wouldn’t Die (1962), staged a return of this institutionally repressed, publicly suppressed fact that “un- American activities” were indeed taking place closer to home than even Hollywood in publicly funded institutions like the U.S. Army. That the American military experimented with devastating effects on its own soldiers suggests the thorough ideological entrenchment of anti- Communism brewed with belief in the supremacy of science to override all competing moralities. In the face of such self- feeding fears, a snowballing “if it can be done, it should be done” rationale won the day.

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Women’s monstrosity in King Kong – like disaster movies like The Wasp Woman (1959), Attack of the 50 Foot Woman (1958), and Mothra (1961) signaled a sexualized, gendered degeneracy and overall regression from a higher democratic yet fi rmly patriarchal order. Understood more broadly, the oversexed femininity layering this substratum of the sci- fi disaster genre stands for catastrophic threats to civilization and political construction. Women- as- nature- run- amok endanger men- as- political- order. The imagery and plot prem-ises of these fi lms suggest that the liberal state’s balance between security and liberty depends on the confi nement of women.

In Them! (1954), atomic testing in New Mexico in the 1940s turns out to have caused the mutation of common ants into a gigantic killer colony promoted as “a horror horde of crawl- and- crush giants.” The repeated stressed syllable “hor” implicitly insists that the sex and dangerousness of the monsters is a gendered social designation: woman. Scientists destroy them only to discover that, sure enough, two queens, signifying a malignant and regressive matriarchy, have escaped to the underground of Los Angeles and begun mass replication. How horrible are these matriarchal monsters? Children may already be their fi rst victims. These terrors justify the announcement: “This city is under martial law until we annihilate THEM!” Certainly not “us,” these creatures are not simply the “second sex” unleashed from traditional societal control but a “them” so unimaginably Other that their very existence defi es articulation, as title and tagline make clear: “A horde so horrifying no word could describe . . . Them!”

This dichotomy recalls the Other of Red Scare disaster fi lms, but by setting the original nuclear testing in 1940s New Mexico and accounting for the actual lag time between radiation exposure and damaging effect, the fi lm’s opening facts underscore the gyroscopic perversion of the atomic disaster subgenre at large. Documented images of both the incinerated and the

The Brain From Planet Arous (1957) literalizes anti- Communist paranoia and fear of mind control as this giant fl oating brain invades the body of a nuclear scientist and threatens to take over the world.

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survivors of the actual atomic bombing of Japan and its radiated aftermath align with com-mon notions of mutation and deformity, nature turned against itself in bodies that, having absorbed radiation but not been destroyed by it, have changed dramatically in response to its cancerous effects. These victims’ bodies are the “them” that this fi lm simultaneously repre-sents and represses in the fi gure of the giant “killer ant,” a contradiction in terms that both mirrors and points to the fi lm’s inversion of historical fact into fi ction fi lm fantasy. Them! makes over the Japanese bomb victims into the object of an American audience’s terror as their altered bodies and damaged lives frighten and unnerve “us” to the point that the only way “we” can culturally contemplate the United States’ singularly disastrous act of war is to deny them their victim role, take it for “us,” and recast “them” as aggressor.

1970s Disaster Films and Charlton Heston

Smash hits at the box offi ce, 1970s disaster movies swapped radiated monsters, funny- scary aliens, and apocalyptic eruptions for natural catastrophes like earthquakes, man- eating sharks and deadly fi sh, killer bees ( Earthquake , 1974; Jaws , 1975, and Piranha , 1978; The Swarm , 1978), and large- scale accidents caused by hubris and technical error ( The Poseidon Adven-ture , 1972; The Towering Inferno , 1974; Airport 1975, 1974). Following political scandals like Watergate and the leaking of the Pentagon Papers, the tumultuous withdrawal of troops from the lost war in Vietnam, and revelations of controversial CIA activities abroad, as well as widespread domestic economic decline, deindustrialization, and aging infrastructure, the 1970s disaster cycle appeared during a widely recognized American crisis of confi dence. These fi lms shared marquees with political thrillers like The Parallax View (1974), Three Days of the Condor (1975), and All the President’s Men (1976), movies defi ned by perilous political atmospheres and paranoid plots that said covert acts and corruption ( Parallax ’s secret assassination corporation, Three Days ’ extra governmental- agency foreign opera-tions, and All the President’s Men ’s tampered campaigns) would always outpace even a wary voting public’s ability to control its government. That cynicism found a corollary in the disaster genre’s premise that catastrophe lurks around every corner and eats at the edges of even monumental achievements like gravity- defying airliners, gigantic dams, and impos-sible weight- bearing ocean liners and skyscrapers.

The political thrillers were committed to downer endings that undermined faith in govern-ment ( Parallax ’s political assassinations and death of an undercover journalist, Three Days ’ uncertain fate of a CIA whistleblower, and All the President’s Men ’s proof of a presidency defi ned by bad acts and corruption). By contrast, no matter what displays of incompetency, cowardice, and desperation went before, the disaster genre’s conclusions reinforced belief in the capability and trustworthiness of patriarchal authority. As Michael Ryan and Douglas Kellner see it, this cycle depicts crises solved by “the ritualized legitimation of strong male leadership.” 28 The 1970s disaster cycle’s true heroes, however, were cops, fi remen, structural engineers, and pilots but mostly not women, and never politicians. The most spineless and unprincipled character in Jaws is also its only elected offi cial, the mayor.

Occasionally the “trust authority” formula rested on the shoulders of a man with a strained connection to public institutions. In these instances (Charlton Heston as rogue detective in Soylent Green and as army man without troops in Omega Man ), the leader possesses skill and reliability in proportion to his distance from institutional power. His loose alliance with politically sanctioned authority provides him his patriarchal bona fi des yet frees him to

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follow his own instincts, independent of offi cial but ineffective indoctrination, and to seek ingenious solutions to each new dilemma rather than follow inevitably doomed institutional protocol.

Throughout the 1970s, Heston embodied on screen the embattled man on whom nothing less than the fate of civilization rests, an apocalyptic, archetypal hero status begun with roles like astronaut Taylor in the postapocalyptic Planet of the Apes (1968). Like 1950s sci- fi nuclear disaster fl icks that entertained the notion that the modern world might actually be in a reverse Darwinian free- fall, Planet of the Apes took that premise and ran with it. At some time in the future, Taylor and crew crash into a planet that at fi rst looks much like earth until they discover prelinguistic humans have been enslaved by technologically advanced, speak-ing apes. They emphasize their superiority with sayings like, “Man see, man do.” Shirtless, Taylor’s bronzed, muscle- rippled skin ironically contrasts with ape hair as his ordeal fulfi lls the fi lm’s tagline: “No human can remain human on the Planet of the Apes .” Threatened by a human with their skills and aptitude, the apes put Taylor on trial to prove his origins. With the help of rebellious apes, he fi nds a cave in the Ape City’s “Forbidden Zone” that proves evolved humans existed prior to the ascendance of the apes. Ever the standard bearer for alpha- male heterosexuality, Heston’s character escapes with a woman, vowing to uncover what happened to his kind. Following the shore’s edge, they discover the ruins of the Statue of Liberty, an ideological use of American iconography to suggest irrevocable loss and pre-sent nostalgia for a past not yet past. This kind of invocation of the monument is repeated in disaster and apocalyptic fi lms from Deluge (1933) to Deep Impact (1988), Day After Tomor-row (2004), Cloverfi eld (2008), and Oblivion , among others.

Set in the American bicentennial year of 1976, The Omega Man (1971) stars Heston as Rob-ert Neville, a military doctor and the last person alive. It is a lonely life. To ward off madness, he plays chess against a bust of Caesar. As Ebert drily observed, “If anybody has to be the last man in the world, I suppose it might as well be Charlton Heston.” 29 Having injected himself with an experimental serum, he has survived an apocalyptic biological war between China and the USSR. Now immune to the war’s plague, he has to fi ght for survival against “the Family,” a band of ghoulish, zombie- meets- vampire people deformed by the war—wearing monks’ robes and sunglasses, they are nearly blind, facially marred, and mentally unbalanced. Their grungy, nocturnal existence and distrust of science liken them to hippies, the 1970s “back to the earth” movement, religious cults, and a mix of all of the above, the Manson family respon-sible for gruesome murders in the late 1960s. A scene of Neville watching Woodstock (1970) in an empty movie theater clarifi es his difference from the fi lm’s free- love hippies dancing in the mud and further aligns the Family with the 1960s antiestablishment counterculture, includ-ing the anti- Vietnam War movement. That Neville enjoys unimpaired health while the Family suffers mutation suggests in political terms that his values represent the fi lm’s individualist, patriarchal authoritarian norm and theirs, the communal, anti- intellectual aberrant.

With his own armory of weapons and a lifetime supply of Scotch, Neville has barricaded himself in an upper- fl oor apartment while the Family tries to kill him. He stands for all they fear and hate, a symbol of the old order, of technology, science, art, and the “progress” that caused the war and subsequent plague. In their words, “he has the stink of oil” and is “the refuse of the past.” They shun the light—of reason and of the sun. To the sounds of a Fam-ily book burning, Neville mutters, “What will it be tonight? Museum of Science? Some library?” In the divide between Neville and the Family, art and science ally with the fossil fuel economy. To reject one means spurning the others, too.

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Eventually the Family captures him and prepares to burn him at the stake. This sequence is reminiscent of torture scenes in Planet of the Apes , except the Family are overtly religious and their killing of Neville involves ceremony. Their leader intones to them why they must kill Neville and they chorus their agreement: “Do we use the tools of the wheel as he does?” “No!” “Then what is he?” “Evil!” Other survivors, including children, rescue him from his heretical death sentence. They represent a surrogate family unsullied by what Neville calls the Family’s “barbaric” values. Among them is Lisa, a representative of the 1960s–1970s black power movement, played by Rosalind Cash with an Afro- styled haircut. She intro-duces Neville to one of the children: “This is the man . . . and I mean ‘The Man,’ but he’s cool.” Neville protects her and plays father to her younger brother, until she suddenly turns mutant and betrays him to the Family. Neville dies, but not before battling the zombies at the politically signifi cant city hall, extracting Lisa from the Family’s clutches, striking another crucifi xion pose, and handing off to the nonzombie family a serum he made from his own blood—“genuine 160- proof, old Anglo- Saxon, baby!” says Neville. In heavy- handed Chris-tian symbolism, “the Man” sacrifi ces himself for “man’s” survival and ensures through his blood the hope for a return to the “genuine Anglo- Saxon” way of life. Despite the potentially subversive relationship that military doctor Neville shares with Lisa, the fi lm ends on a strained, visually contradictory note regarding her political symbolism. She escapes with the “good” family but as an albino- mutant. Politically and culturally coded for resistance and rebellion, her Afro is hidden in a hooded robe, and her skin shines an eerie white.

In Soylent Green (1973), Heston plays a police detective in New York City in 2022, an overpopulated, starving, resource- depleted dystopia, where women serve as concubines referred to as “furniture” and most people are homeless and eat compressed foodstuff wafers issued by the Soylent Corporation. Called “Soylent Green,” the latest variety is said to derive from plankton. Heston’s Detective Thorn (as in a thorn in the side of the government- corporate cabal) discovers the truth, and secret state agents target him for murder when he disobeys the governor’s order to stop investigating the death of a Soylent executive and then

Charlton Heston as Dr. Robert Neville dies after handing off his “160- proof Anglo- Saxon” blood in The Omega Man (1971).

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threatens to reveal that the government has resorted to collaboration with Soylent Corpora-tion in harvesting its own people to make Soylent Green. In Earthquake (1974), Heston plays a Los Angeles engineer stuck in a miserable marriage when disaster strikes. Since he has just cheated on his wife, he rescues many but must sacrifi ce himself to try to save her. Both die when Mulholland Dam bursts, and an extended long shot surveys the detritus that was once Los Angeles. A resonant closing line announces, “This used to be a helluva town.”

Taken together, Heston’s 1970s disaster and apocalyptic fi lms champion the individual savior. They imply that overreaching government control is evil—what but a government– corporate alliance would devise something as horrifi c and devious as Soylent Green? Captured by the ghoulish Family in The Omega Man , Neville quips, “Are you fellas really with the Internal Revenue Service?” But the actions of one man vested with precataclysmic institutional power will ultimately prove valiant and essential. His characters stand for the post- 1960s restoration of familiar cultural and political norms, the justifi cation for a return of the right, white, “heroic,” and “noble” man to power. Jon Towelton estimates the politi-cal goal of rehabilitating authority fi gures in 1970s disaster fi lms more pointedly: “Charlton Heston in Earthquake (1974) and The Omega Man (1971), sacrifi ces himself Christ- like to prove to the younger generation that, like Nixon, he was fi ring off the big guns just to keep us safe.” 30

For a time, 1970s disaster fi lms enjoyed enormous box offi ce success and cultural rel-evance by combining the genre’s spectacular visual effects, often involving failing and neglected infrastructure, with suspenseful, action- packed storylines. Eventually, however, declining Hollywood fortunes, recycled plotlines, and emphasis on spectacle at the cost of character development overtook the cycle. The genre began to look cheap, its effects “cheesy,” the very defi nition of camp: “So bad it’s good.” Audiences responded with dis-missive laughter; the 1970s disaster cycle faded.

Charlton Heston’s career is again instructive. In a famous 1993 television send- up on Sat-urday Night Live , John Goodman plays a movie producer being interviewed about his sci- fi dystopian fi lm, the actual Soylent Green , and its chilling climax when Charlton Heston’s character reveals that the government- sanctioned food substitute feeding an overpopulated, starving nation is really made from people. With a clip from the fi lm rear- projected on set, SNL cast member Phil Hartman, dressed as Heston in the movie—replete with a neck- scarf that signals camp even before he utters a word—staggers across the screen to emote, “Soylent Green is made out of peee- pulll,” as he throws his hands in the air and falls to his knees. The skit continues with John Goodman announcing the fi lm’s sequels and, facing fi nancial failure, fi nally a return to the franchise’s “roots” with “Soylent Green II.” For each sequel, Hartman reprises the same moment from the original fi lm, substituting only the change in color as he yells and clutches at the air. In one he reveals the truth to two offi ce workers typing away on typewriters surrounded by endless stacks of white paper made pos-sible by “Soylent White.”

If “keep the faith” in traditional, racially divisive patriarchy as represented in the char-acters played by Charlton Heston, American political institutions like the military, and locations like city hall is indeed the political message of 1970s apocalyptic fi lms like Soylent Green and The Omega Man , then the end of the broader disaster cycle and the decade that produced it signaled the victory of this point of view. By the 1980s and the ascendance of Republican conservative Ronald Reagan, the genre had effectively disappeared from the screen, remade into an action– disaster amalgam epitomized by the Die Hard franchise

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(latest installment: 2015). The 1990s disaster fi lms returned to their 1970s roots not with more “original sequels” but with nature- gone- berserk fi lms featuring pronounced self- aware camp as their selling point ( Arachnophobia , 1990; Anaconda , 1997; Lake Placid , 1999).

Ironically, while former actor and union leader President Reagan championed science on behalf of big budget military development and a defense system inspired by the movies—the so- called Star Wars missile defense space shield—he catapulted into offi ce on the complaint that government was “not the solution” but the “problem.” Fellow Republican Charlton Heston was an outspoken supporter of Reagan and other like- minded conserva-tives. By the time such politicians fell most conspicuously out of favor in 2006–2008 and in the Republican presidential loss in 2012, however, they supported an antiscience platform skeptical of both evolution and global climate change. They militantly supported the indi-vidual right to bear arms in a political message inseparable from a siege mentality that lost them favor even with former allies from the Reagan years: police forces across the country. Like the genre that faded into high- camp fakery, risible dialogue, and easily mocked perfor-mances, those election losses signifi ed that the ideologies underpinning them—restoration of a nostalgic political order by violence if necessary, natural superiority of the individual over the government- reliant herd, women’s bodies fi xed as symbols of national identity and procreation—had overshot their target.

This correlated rise- and- fall trajectory found apt expression in a short Youtube.com video posted anonymously during the 2012 presidential election with Republican nomi-nee Mitt Romney’s exchange with a voter on the campaign trail (“Corporations are people, my friend”) dubbed over Phil Hartman in his parody of former Republican standard- bearer Heston’s Soylent Green crie de coeur: “Corporations are peee- pulll!” At the same time as American voters rejected Romney’s candidacy and its alliance with corporate power, how-ever, the majority of the Supreme Court moved further in the opposite direction. Its 2010

A 1993 Saturday Night Live (NBC) skit featuring Phil Hartman as Charlton Heston in a parody of Soylent Green (1973) turned into an anti- Romney Youtube parody- of- a- parody.

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Citizens United decision on campaign fi nance laws and 2014 Hobby Lobby ruling regarding the Affordable Care Act and employer- sponsored health insurance reinforced the defi nition of corporations as “associations of citizens.” These decisions in effect declared that, legally, “corporations are peeee- pulll” and as such are entitled to certain freedoms of speech and religion. Chronologically wedged between the Citizens United and Hobby Lobby decisions, the Youtube.com parody- of- a- parody perpetuated beyond the 2012 presidential election the relevance of disaster fi lm tropes like Soylent Green ’s crises over authority, the relationship between private and public interests, and government– corporate conspiracy.

Twenty- First- Century Disaster and Apocalyptic Films

The American twenty- fi rst century has been marked by natural, economic, and political dis-asters, including the unprecedented 9/11 terrorist attacks and the launching of two foreign wars in response. Natural disasters include Hurricane Katrina and the Deep Horizon oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. The collapse of the world economy in 2008 led to failing banks and skyrocketing unemployment as loss of wealth across all classes cascaded into the worst economic conditions since the Great Depression. Political disasters included the disputed presidential election of 2000, which was fi nally settled in an unmatched intervention by the Supreme Court, later disavowed by Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, who supported it at the time, and legislative gridlock following the 2008 and 2012 election cycles that culminated in a 2013 Republican- led shutdown of the federal government at a price to Americans of billions of dollars. Meanwhile, the Mayan calendar was said to predict a defi nite doomsday even as self- proclaimed prophets declared revelations of yet other apocalyptic dates— rhetoric that trickled into the nation’s political discourse. In 2013, former presidential contender Rep-resentative Michelle Bachmann accused President Obama of secretly arming terrorists in Syria: “U.S. taxpayers are now paying to give arms to terrorists including Al- Qaeda. We are to understand where we are in God’s End Times history, and we need to rejoice, Maranatha Come Lord Jesus, His day is at hand.” 31 Although mystical apocalyptic dates came and went and Bachmann’s accusations came to nothing, dread about the future and ill- defi ned fears of the terror- tinged present lingered.

Amid alarmist political rhetoric and shattering events, Hollywood returned to disaster and apocalyptic storylines. Designed and displayed with digital technologies well suited to pervasive images of destruction and “persuasive images of death,” the genre fl uently trans-lated the political anxieties and widespread calamities marking the new century. As nuclear disaster and brainwashing movies had for the 1950s and 1960s, disaster, apocalyptic, and postdisaster dystopian fi lms like Battle Los Angeles (2011), The Road , The Dark Knight Rises , Contagion , World War Z , The Day After Tomorrow , Ender’s Game (2012), Battle-ship (2013), and Dredd expressed this era’s “imagination of disaster.” 32 Many emphasized government in jeopardy and featured wide- reaching militarism with armed might decoupled from government control. In World War Z (2013), the Z stands for zombies. Although its hero, Gerry Lane, hails from New York, he works for the United Nations. In order to keep his family safe aboard a ship in the middle of the ocean, he must travel the globe in search of the answer to ending the zombie- apocalypse. As in Pacifi c Rim and Elysium , several lan-guages are spoken in World War Z , as many of these fi lms shift to a global mise- en- scène. These fi lms question both the U.S. government’s sustainability and the world’s ability not to self- annihilate.

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Politically, such fi lms refl ect, perhaps even verify and perpetuate, widespread suspicion that what as recently as the 1990s was proclaimed “the end of history” has instead turned out to be the end of the “American experiment,” with the United States unable and/or unwill-ing to play its World War II and postwar superhero role on the world stage. Caught off guard by Russia’s seizure of Crimea in Ukraine; teetering on debt default in 2011 and 2013; losing or allowing to end in stalemate two wars on foreign soil, while ensnared in an intractable yet amorphous war on terror; stymied by a gap between the rich and everyone else at an all- time high and also by a dysfunctional federal legislature that undermines even the idea of Ameri-can governability—such bad news defi nes the times and has summoned in fi lm fantasy an even greater political disaster: demolition of the American political system to begin it again from completely deracinated ground.

Destruction directly targeting the Capitol building begins the genre’s march toward oblit-eration before taking a brief step back from the precipice in White House Down and Olympus Has Fallen . Both fi lms stage their disasters in the seat of government with plots that incrimi-nate Washington politicians, political maneuvering, and the functions of government. Their imagery’s logic suggests a fantasized completion of the presumed mission of 9/11’s downed plane, United 93, as both climaxes stage the explosion of the Capitol in a fi ery display.

The relevance of White House Down (2013) begins with President Sawyer, played by African- American actor Jamie Foxx. Treachery within Sawyer’s security team forces him into a desperate alliance with a former soldier named Cale, a chest- baring Channing Tatum, just turned down for a Secret Service job—an early indication of bureaucratic failure. When together they win the day, the fi lm’s story proves Cale should have been hired. The odd couple prevails against a paramilitary convoy of tinted- window black SUVs ordered into action by the treasonous Walker, retiring head of the president’s security, played by James Woods, his hair in a military- style brush cut. He is distraught over both the death of his son in combat and news that Sawyer champions global peace, an objective Walker thinks would erase his son’s sacrifi ce. The fi lm concludes with Cale’s daughter waving a giant American fl ag on the White House lawn to signal the victory of the offi cially elected Sawyer over the rogue, pro- war Walker. Earning back roughly half its $150 million price tag, White House Down rendered Capitol Hill partisan tensions and public dissatisfaction with government literally explosive.

By contrast, in the similarly imagined Olympus Has Fallen ( 2012), foreigners take over the White House. An Asian- identifi ed mercenary wreaks havoc on the Capitol and its work-ers. It is an outside job, but the imagery and barely sublimated fantasy are the same: tear the political system down. Both fi lms project a giddy glee about the possibility of destroy-ing the functioning monument to American democracy. Both provide a hyper- real, visually diverting, transcoded image of the economically devastating federal government shutdown like the one spurred by Tea Party Republicans, including junior senators Ted Cruz and Rand Paul, in the fall of 2013 and the lawsuit fi led by the United States House of Representatives under Republican Speaker John Boehner against Democratic President Obama in summer 2014. Unleashing destruction and fi repower within the Capitol’s dome suggested at best that politically the United States should turn away from foreign matters and mind the home front, an isolationist tendency also embraced by libertarians and extended to the continuing tumult in Iraq and Syria.

Closer to the dream of a razed government, Oblivion (2013) presents a decimated postapocalyptic earth, untethered from any remnants of a past political system or governing

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body, a point underscored by images of a bombed- out Pentagon and a staggering Washing-ton Monument. Hero Jack Harper (Tom Cruise) cannot quite shake the vague feeling that something is amiss in his perfect if bland and barren world. Stationed with a stereotypically beautiful woman partner in a sleek window- lined home just above the scarred earth left after a war with aliens, Jack spends his days patrolling the planet’s remaining rubble in an egg- shaped ship. Constantly in defensive mode against powerful but largely unseen enemies, Jack asks the central question, “We won the war. Why are we still fi ghting?” As he suspects, it turns out that humans did not win the war against the alien Scavs but are hiding out from them in former cultural outposts like a library. Haunted by sensations of former American icons like the Empire State Building, and Super Bowl games, Jack is not a soldier for his species but a stooge for the victorious aliens. Jack’s urge to uncover the truth translates to a political wistfulness, a longing not only for a lost culture and its monuments but for the political system that gave order to it.

Jack’s question of why the supposed victors still fi ght also resonates with entrenched American fi ghting in Iraq and Afghanistan. Despite President George W. Bush’s declared end to combat operations under the famous banner, “Mission Accomplished,” the United States fought on with No End in Sight —the memorable title of a 2007 documentary about the Bush administration and the Iraq war. Further, Jack’s plaintive question recalls the war on terror’s mission creep into other nations like Pakistan, where Osama bin Laden was cap-tured and American drones have killed civilians. Jack’s portrayal by an aging movie hero like Cruise, his lack of sophisticated body armor, his signature baseball cap, and his private Eden of green grasses beside a rushing stream where he hides out from the ongoing Scav war all attest to the fi lm’s overriding nostalgia for the political, ecological, and cultural order of the past. Even the fi lm’s poster emphasizes loss and nostalgia as a ruined Brooklyn bridge teeters in a cloudy mist behind Jack.

Prosthetic- equipped heroes anchor another subset of recent apocalyptic fi lms ( Iron Man franchise, Transformers franchise; Pacifi c Rim , Elysium , 2013; Robocop , Edge of Tomor-row , 2014). These technologically engineered, super- bodied heroes recall familiar disaster fi lm tropes in their “rehabilitation of Daddy,” as Towelton describes the 1970s Charlton

In post apocalyptic Oblivion (2013), crumbled signs of the old political system suffuse the fi lm and its hero (Tom Cruise) with nostalgia.

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Heston disaster subgenre. In the case of Iron Man 3 , Tony Stark’s girlfriend, Pepper, fi nds herself inside his Iron Man suit and equipped with superhuman abilities. By fi lm’s end, however, it is Tony who proves it is “the man who makes the suit,” while Pepper must be rescued, stripped of her iron, and “cured” of her new capabilities. Despite futurist bodies as much computer generated metal as analog fl esh, these heroes connote a familiar masculinity as certainly as does bare- chested Charlton Heston in Planet of the Apes .

In her review of the Matt Damon postapocalyptic thriller Elysium (2013), New York Times reviewer Manohla Dargis makes the comparison explicit: “Not since Charlton Heston strug-gled to save humanity from itself have movies looked this grimly, resolutely fatalistic.” 33 Director of the sleeper hit District 9 (2009), Australian Neill Blomkamp sets Elysium in a dystopian future earth reminiscent of Soylent Green : overpopulated, resource- depleted, dehumanized. In 2154, the wealthy live above earth on a fl oating, Eden- like space ship where no one suffers illness and the built environment is as pristine as a Hollywood man-sion. Working- class former criminal Max, played by Matt Damon, is one of the permanently unlucky, stuck on earth in a soulless job where he gets radiation poisoning and has only a few days to live. Desperate to get to Elysium where all disease is curable, he agrees to be outfi tted by a renegade crew with prosthetics that give him super strength and will allow him to download information that will allow earth’s desperate masses in to Elysium’s perfected world in a chip implanted in his brain. Literally heartless robots play low- level bureau-crats and law enforcers incapable of empathy or even sympathy. Unlike in most of the prosthetic- driven fi lms of this subgenre ( Robocop , 2014; Battleship , 2013, etc.), a panicked Max receives his exoskeleton prosthetics in a dirty, makeshift setting more chop- shop than hospital, operated on by bulked- up men more indicative of street fi ghting than surgical skill. His poor man’s prostheses are bulky and painful, and the computer drive drilled into his head is far from sleek. Yet these cyborg- like technologies allow him to dissolve the barriers between the Elysium space station and the ragged earth below so that the impoverished and ill populace from earth can enjoy the bounty and physical healing available in Elysium. Not long after “Daddy” or Heston- like Max sacrifi ces himself for the sake of his childhood love

In Elysium (2013), Max (Matt Damon) is outfi tted with crude, painfully implanted “poor man’s” prosthetics.

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and her daughter. Criticized for its blunt political message about the increasing economic gap between the top one percent and everyone else, Elysium performed modestly during a summer of many techno- bodied action star disaster fi lms.

Like their predecessors, current fi ctional disaster fi lms often begin with historical precedent—nuclear testing, spreading Communist infl uence, space travel, viral outbreaks, and dwindling natural resources—and then ask, “What if?” What if the 2003 explosion of the space shuttle Columbia spread an alien virus ( The Invasion, 2007 )? What if declining birth rates turned into the sterility of the entire world ( Children of Men )? What if the H1N1 virus transmitted from animal to human and from human to human caused, instead of a debilitating fl u, rapid but painful death ( Contagion )? What if the wealth gap between the one percent and the rest of the United States led the wealthy to live in a luxurious, trouble- free space station while everyone else was stuck on a crumbling earth ( Elysium )? The invariably ugly answer paints a bleak picture of humans stripped bare of creature comforts and civiliz-ing social cues, driven by fear and need.

Hollywood genres tend toward the politically conservative by stressing individualism over any competing value. And fi lms writ large privilege individual effort over communal or government action, with the possible exception of war or sports team fi lms that depend on scenes of group- orchestrated action to provide context for individual acts of courage or talent. As Douglas Kellner summarizes, “conservatism has advocated individualism and freedom over equality and justice, and supports traditional values like the heterosexual patri-archal family.” 34 Disaster fi lms emphasize that same ideology of individualism, heterosexual norms, and patriarchy in genre conventions that include depictions of inept government response, mass misbehavior like large- scale looting, and restored traditional family con-fi gurations. In World War Z , the United States and NATO both are helpless without the leadership and brains of Gerry Lane. At the end of The Birds and Contagion , both Mitch characters fi nd their way back to the role of uncontested head of family. In contrast, socially unconventional Melanie survives the birds’ physical assault but is rendered nearly comatose, and Mitch’s cheating spouse not only dies but is an important link in the contagion’s chain of infection, responsible for bringing it to the United States.

The disaster fi lm’s crystal ball effect often substitutes for immediate political infl uence. The most potent political message of such fi lms? Government fails us or even authors our destruction and cannot or, when either the self- interest of bureaucrats or their soulless calcu-lus of social costs and benefi ts trumps any other consideration, will not save us. Only brave individuals can perhaps save themselves and, if the public is lucky, one of them, by bucking government safeguards that look more like senseless obstacles, will single- handedly fi nd the solution and save the public despite its having foolishly trusted “the system.”

Notes

1. “These Days the End Is Always Near: Disaster Films Plague the Box Offi ce,” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/2013/07/21/movies/disaster- fi lms- plague- the- box offi ce.html?hpw&_r=0.

2. Such contextual analysis and translation or “transcoding” of political culture into “specifi cally cin-ematic terms” derives in part from the methodology of Douglas Kellner, especially as outlined in his essay “Film, Politics, and Ideology: Refl ections on Hollywood Film in the Age of Reagan,” Velvet Light Trap , Spring 1991, p. 9, http://connection.ebscohost.com/c/articles/31127819/fi lm- politics- ideology- refl ections- hollywood- fi lm- age- reagan. See also Douglas Kellner, Cinema Wars: Hollywood’s Films and Politics in the Bush- Cheney Era (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley- Blackwell, 2009).

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3. Library of Congress, Motion Picture & Television Reading Room, www.loc.gov/rr/mopic/miggen.html#Disaster.

4. Maurice Yacowar, “Bug in the Rug,” Film Genre Reader II , ed. Barry Keith Grant (Austin: Uni-versity of Texas Press), p. 261.

5. Ibid., p. 268. 6. Several critics have noted Gothic tropes in The Birds . For example, see Kyle William Bishop,

“The Threat of the Gothic Patriarchy in Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds ,” Rocky Mountain Review 62, no. 2 (Fall 2011): 135.

7. Yacowar, p. 270. 8. Ibid., p. 273. 9. Roger Ebert, “The Core,” www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the- core- 2003. 10. Ibid. 11. This point is also made by Terence McSweeney in his essay “‘Each Night Is Darker—Beyond

Darkness’: The Environmental and Spiritual Apocalypse of The Road ,” Journal of Film and Video 65, no. 4 (2013): 45.

12. Director John Hillcoat talks about his intentions to create realism in Charles McGrath, “At World’s End, Honing a Father- Son Dynamic,” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/2008/05/27/movies/27road.html?pagewanted=all.

13. Sarah Schwartzman, “ Children of Men and a Plural Messianism,” Journal of Religion & Film 13, no. 1 (2009): 3.

14. Sika Alaine Dagbovie, “Star- Light, Star- Bright, Star Damn Near White: Mixed Race Superstars,” Journal of Popular Culture 40, no. 2 (2007): 11.

15. Ibid., p. 9. 16. For example, see David Rosen, “King Kong: Race, Sex, and Rebellion,” Jump Cut , www.ejump-

cut.org/archive/onlinessays/JC06folder/KingKong.html. 17. “LeBron James ‘Vogue’ Cover Called Racially Insensitive,” USA Today, http://usatoday30.usato-

day.com/life/people/2008- 03- 24- vogue- controversy_N.htm. 18. “Review, ‘Lifeboat,’” Variety , http://variety.com/1943/fi lm/reviews/lifeboat- 1200414278/. 19. Bosley Crowther, “Lifeboat,” New York Times , http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=9C

0CE0D91238E33BBC4B52DFB766838F659EDE. 20. Ibid. 21. “Nor Was There a Stock Comedy Negro,” Letters of Note: Correspondence of Letters Deserving

a Wider Audience, www.lettersofnote.com/2012/02/nor- was- there- stock- comedy- negro.html. 22. Ibid. 23. Crowther. 24. Quoted in Robert E. Morseberger, “Adrift in Steinbeck’s Lifeboat,” Film Quarterly 4, no. 4

(1976): 135. 25. “Experiments for Hydrogen Bomb Held Successfully,” New York Times , www.nytimes.com/

learning/general/onthisday/big/1101.html#article. 26. Gwendolyn Audrey Foster, “Fifties Hysteria Returns: Doomsday Prepping in a Culture of Fear,

Death, and Automatic Weapons,” Film International , http://fi lmint.nu/?p=6638. 27. Raffi Katchadourian, “Operation Delirium,” The New Yorker , www.newyorker.com/

reporting/2012/12/17/121217fa_fact_khatchadourian. 28. Stephen Keane, The Cinema of Catastrophe (London: Wallfl ower Press, 2006), p. 10. 29. Roger Ebert, “The Hindenburg,” www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the- hindenburg- 1975. 30. Jon Towelton, “Rehabilitating Daddy,” Paracinema , http://paracinema.net/wp- content/uploads/

2012/08/Rehabilitating- Daddy.pdf, p. 114. 31. “Bachmann: Obama Funding Al- Qaeda Proves We Are at End Times,” Crooks & Liars , Video Café,

http://videocafe.crooksandliars.com/david/bachmann- obama- funding- al- qaeda- proves- we- ar. 32. Susan Sontag, “The Imagination of Disaster,” Commentary , http://americanfuturesiup.fi les.word-

press.com/2013/01/sontag- the- imagination- of- disaster.pdf. 33. Manohla Dargis, “The Worst Is Yet to Come,” www.nytimes.com/2013/08/09/movies/elysium-

sends- matt- damon- into- a- dystopian- future.html. 34. Kellner, p. 3.

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Appendix

Closing CreditsA Political Filmography

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APPENDIX

372

Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Abe Lincoln in Illinois 1940 John Cromwell Grover JonesAbraham Lincoln 1930 D.W. Griffi th D.W. Griffi thAbraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

2012 Timur Bekmambetov

Seth Grahame-Smith

Absence of Malice 1981 Sydney Pollack Kurt LuedtkeAbsolute Power 1997 Clint Eastwood William GoldmanAccepted 2006 Steve Pink Adam Cooper Bill Collage et al.Accused, The 1988 Jonathan Kaplan Tom ToptorAcross the Universe 2007 Julie Taymor Dick Clement Ian La Frenais et al.Act of Valor 2012 Mike McCoy,

Scott WaughKurt Johnstad

Adjustment Bureau, The 2011 George Nolfi George Nolfi Phillip K. DickAdvise and Consent 1962 Otto Preminger Wendell MayesAeon Flux 2006 Karyn Kusama Phil Hay Matt Manfredi et al.After Earth 2013 M. Night

ShyamalanGary Whitta M. Night Shyamalan et al.

After the Wizard 2011 Hugh Gross Hugh GrossAgainst All Odds 1984 Taylor Hackford Eric HughesAir America 1990 Roger

SpottiswoodeJohn Eskow Richard Rush

Air Force One 1997 Wolfgang Peterson

Andrew W. Marlowe

Alamo Bay 1985 Louis Malle Louis MalleAlice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore

1975 Martin Scorsese Robert Getchell

Alice in Wonderland 2010 Tim Burton Linda Woolverton Lewis CarrollAll Quiet on the Western Front

1930 Lewis Milestone Lewis Milestone et al.

All the King’s Men 1949 Robert Rossen Robert Rossen Robert Penn WarrenAll the President’s Men 1976 Alan Pakula William GoldmanAmerica 1924 D.W. Griffi th D.W. Griffi thAmerican Gangster 2007 Ridley Scott Steven Zaillian Mark JacobsonAmerican Graffi ti 1973 George Lucas George Lucas Gloria Katz, Willard HuyckAmerican Madness 1932 Frank Capra Robert RiskinAmerican President, The

1995 Rob Reiner Aaron Sorkin

American Way, The 1986 Maurice Phillips Scott RobertsAmistad 1997 Steven Spielberg David FranzoniAnd Justice for All 1979 Norman Jewison Valerie Curtin Barry LevinsonAnnie Hall 1977 Woody Allen Woody Allen Marshall BrickmanApocalypse Now 1979 Francis Ford

CoppolaFrancis Ford Coppola

John Milius

Apocalypto 2006 Mel Gibson Mel Gibson Farhad Safi niaArbitrage 2012 Nicholas Jarecki Nicholas JareckiArgo 2012 Ben Affl eck Chris Terrio Tony Mendez et al.Arlington Road 1999 Mark Pellington Ehren KrugerArrowsmith 1931 John Ford Sidney HowardAtlas Shrugged: Part I 2011 Paul Johansson John Aglialoro Brian Patrick O’Toole et al.Atlas Shrugged II: The Strike

2012 John Putch Duke Sandefur Brian Patrick O’Toole et al.

Atomic Cafe, The 1982 Jayne Loader Jayne Loader Kevin and Pierce Rafferty

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Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Attack of the 50 Foot Woman

1958 Nathan Juran Mark Hanna

Australia 2008 Baz Luhrmann Stuart Beattie Baz Luhrmann et al.Avatar 2009 James Cameron James CameronAvengers, The 2012 Joss Whedon Joss WhedonAVP: Aliens vs. Predator 2004 Paul W.S.

AndersonDan O’Bannon Ronald Shusett et al.

AVPR: Aliens vs. Predator—Requiem

2007 Colin Strause, Greg Strause

Shane Salerno Dan O’Bannon et al.

Babel 2006 Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu

Guillermo Arriaga Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu

Baby Boom 1987 Charles Shyer Nancy Meyers Charles ShyerBack to Bataan 1945 Edward Dmytryk Ben Barzman Richard H. LandauBait 2000 Antoine Fuqua Adam Scheinman Andrew Scheinman,

T. GilroyBamboozled 2000 Spike Lee Spike LeeBananas 1971 Woody Allen Woody AllenBarbershop 2002 Tim Story Mark Brown Don D. Scott, Marshall

ToddBasic Instinct 1992 Paul Verhoeven Joe EsterhazBatman Begins 2005 Christopher

NolanChristopher Nolan David S. Goyer et al.

Battle Los Angeles 2011 Jonathan Liebesman

Christopher Bertolini

Battleship 2012 Peter Berg Jon Hoeber Erich HoeberBeasts of the Southern Wild

2012 Benh Zeitlin Lucy Alibar Benh Zeitlin

Beau James 1957 Melville Shavelson

Melville Shavelson Jack Rose

Being There 1979 Hal Ashby Jerzy KosinskiBeloved 1998 Jonathan

Demme Akosua Busia Richard LaGravenese,

Adam BrooksBest Man, The 1964 Franklin Shaffner Gore VidalBest Years of Our Lives, The

1946 William Wyler Robert Sherwood

Betrayed 1988 Costa-Gavras Joe EszterhasBetter Life, A 2011 Chris Weitz Eric Eason Roger L. SimonBetween the Lines 1977 Joan Micklin

Silver Joan Micklin Silver

Beverly Hills Cop 1984 Martin Brest Danilo Bach Daniel Petrie Jr.Big Chill, The 1983 Lawrence

KasdanLawrence Kasdan Barbara Benedeck

Big Jim McLain 1952 Edward Ludwig James Edward Grant

Big Miracle 2012 Ken Kwapis Jack Amiel Michael Begler et al.Big Parade, The 1925 King Vidor Lawrence Stallings Harry BehnBig Uneasy, The 2010 Harry Shearer Harry ShearerBig Wednesday 1978 John Milius John Milius Dennis AbergBirth of a Nation, The 1915 D.W. Griffi th D.W. Griffi th Frank E. WoodsBlack Hawk Down 2001 Ridley Scott Ken NolanBlack Legion 1937 Archie Mayor Abem Finkel William Wister HainesBlaze 1989 Ron Shelton Ron Shelton

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Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Blindness 2008 Fernando Meirelles

Don McKellar Jose Saramago

Blindside, The 2009 John Lee Hancock

John Lee Hancock Michael Lewis

Blockade 1938 William Dieterle John Howard Lawson

Blood Diamond 2006 Edward Zwick Charles LeavittBlow Out 1981 Brian de Palma Brian de PalmaBlue Collar 1978 Paul Schraeder Paul Schraeder Leonard SchraederBob Roberts 1992 Tim Robbins Tim RobbinsBody Heat 1981 Lawrence

KasdanLawrence Kasdan

Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefi t Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan

2006 Larry Charles Sacha Baron Cohen

Anthony Hines et al.

Border, The 1982 Tony Richardson Deric Washburn Walon Green, David Freeman

Born on the Fourth of July

1989 Oliver Stone Oliver Stone Ron Kovic

Born Yesterday 1950 George Cukor Albert MannheimerBorn Yesterday 1993 Luis Madoki Leslie DixonBound for Glory 1976 Hal Ashby Robert GetchellBourne Legacy, The 2012 Tony Gilroy Tony Gilroy Dan GilroyBourne Supremacy, The 2004 Paul Greengrass Tony Gilroy Robert LudlumBourne Ultimatum, The 2007 Paul Greengrass Tony Gilroy Scott Z. Burns et al.Bowling for Columbine 2003 Michael Moore Michael MooreBoys in Company C, The 1978 Sidney J. Furie Sidney J. Furie Rick NatkinBoyz N the Hood 1991 John Singleton John SingletonBreach 2007 Billy Ray Adam Mazer William Rotko et al.Bread and Roses 2000 Ken Loach Paul LavertyBringing Down the House 1992 Adam Shankman Jason FilardiBrokeback Mountain 2005 Ang Lee Larry McMurtry Diana Ossana et al.Broken Arrow 1950 Delmer Daves Michael Blankfort

(Albert Maltz)Broken City 2013 Allen Hughes Brian TuckerBrooklyn’s Finest 2009 Antoine Fuqua Michael C. MartinBrubaker 1980 Stuart

RosenbergW.D. Richter

Bullet to the Head 2012 Walter Hill Alessandro Camon Alexis Nolent et al.Bulworth 1998 Warren Beatty Jeremy PikserButter 2012 Jim Field Smith Jason MicallefCampaign, The 2012 Jay Roach Chris Henchy Shawn Harwell et al.Candidate, The 1972 Michael Ritchie Jeremy LarnerCapitalism: A Love Story 2009 Michael Moore Michael MooreCapote 2005 Bennett Miller Dan Futterman Gerald ClarkeCaptain America: The First Avenger

2011 Joe Johnston Christopher Markus Stephen McFeely et al.

Carriers 2009 David Pastor, Alex Pastor

Alex Pastor David Pastor

Casa de Las Babys 2003 John Sayles John SaylesCasablanca 1942 Michael Curtiz Howard Koch

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Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Casino Jack 2010 George Hickenlooper

Norman Snider

Casualties of War 1989 Brian de Palma David RabeCatch 22 1970 Mike Nichols Buck HenryChangeling 2008 Clint Eastwood J. Michael

StraczynskiCharlie and the Chocolate Factory

2005 Tim Burton John August

Charlie Wilson’s War 2007 Mike Nichols Aaron Sorkin George CrileChe! 1969 Richard Fleischer Michael Wilson Sy BartlettCheyenne Autumn 1964 John Ford James R. WebbChildren of Men 2006 Alfonso Cuaron Alfonso Cuaron Timothy J. Sexton et al.China Heavyweight 2012 Yung Chang Yung ChangChina Syndrome, The 1979 James Bridges James Bridges T.S. Bridges, Mike GrayChinatown 1974 Roman Polansky Robert TowneChronicles of Narnia, The: Prince Caspian

2008 Andrew Adamson

Andrew Adamson Christopher Markus et al.

Chronicles of Narnia, The: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

2005 Andrew Adamson

Ann Peacock Andrew Adamson et al.

Chronicles of Narnia, The: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

2010 Michael Apted Christopher Markus Stephen McFeely et al.

Chronicles of Riddick 2004 David Twohy David Twohy Jim Wheat et al.Citizen Kane 1941 Orson Welles Herman

MankiewiczOrson Welles

Citizen Ruth 1996 Alexander Payne Alexander Payne Jim TaylorCity of Hope 1991 John Sayles John SaylesCivil Action, A 1998 Steven Zaillian Steven ZaillianClear and Present Danger 1994 Phillip Noyce Donald Stewart John Milius, Steven ZaillianCleopatra 1912 Charles L. GaskillClose Encounters of the Third Kind

1977 Steven Spielberg Steven Spielberg

Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs

2009 Phil Lord, Chris Miller

Phil Lord Chris Miller et al.

Coffy 1973 Jack Hill Jack HillCollateral Damage 2002 Andrew Davis David Griffi ths Peter Griffi thsColor Purple, The 1985 Steven Spielberg Menno Meyjes Columbiana 2011 Oliver Megaton Luc Besson Robert Mark KamenComing Home 1978 Hal Ashby Waldo Salt Robert C. JonesCompany Men 2010 John Wells John WellsCompany You Keep, The 2013 Robert Redford Lem Dobbs Neil GordonCompliance 2012 Craig Zobel Craig ZobelConfessions of a Nazi Spy

1939 Anatole Litvak Milton Krims John Wexley

Conspiracy Theory 1997 Richard Donner Brian HelgelandConstant Gardener, The 2005 Fernando

MeirellesJeffrey Caine

Contagion 2011 Steven Soderbergh

Scott Z. Burns

Contender, The 2000 Rod Lurie Rod LurieControl Room 2004 Jehane Noujame Jehane Noujame Julia Bacha

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Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Conversation, The 1974 Francis Ford Coppola

Francis Ford Coppola

Core, The 2003 Jon Amiel Cooper Layne John RogersCorporation, The 2003 Jennifer Abbot,

Mark AchbarJoel Bakan Harold Crooks et al.

Country 1984 Richard Pearce Richard PearceCrack: The Big Lie 1987 Mark Jean Mark JeanCradle Will Rock 1999 Tim Robbins Tim RobbinsCrash 2004 Paul Haggis Paul HaggisCreature from the Black Lagoon, The

1954 Jack Arnold Harry Essex

Crimson Tide 1995 Tony Scott Michael SchifferCrisis 1950 Richard Brooks Richard BrooksCrossfi re 1947 Edward Dmytryk John PaxtonCrowd, The 1928 King Vidor King Vidor John V.A. WeaverCrush, The 1993 Alan Shapiro Alan ShapiroCry Freedom 1987 Richard

AttenboroughJohn Briley

Da Vinci Code, The 2006 Ron Howard Akiva GoldsmanDance, Fools, Dance 1931 Harry Beaumont Aurania Rouverol Richard ShayerDances with Wolves 1990 Kevin Costner Michael BlakeDaniel 1983 Sidney Lumet E.L. DoctorowDark City 1998 Alex Proyas Alex ProyasDark Horse, The 1932 Alfred E. Green Joseph Jackson Wilson MiznerDark Knight 2008 Christopher

NolanJonathan Nolan Christopher Nolan et al.

Dark Knight Rises 2012 Christopher Nolan

Jonathan Nolan Christopher Nolan et al.

Dark Truth, A 2012 Damian Lee Damian LeeDave 1993 Ivan Reitman Gary RossDay After Tomorrow 2004 Roland

EmmerichRoland Emmerich Jeffrey Nachmanoff

Daybreakers 2009 Michael Spierig, Peter Spierig

Michael Spierig Peter Spierig

Days of Glory 1944 Jacques Tourneur

Casey Robinson

Days of Heaven 1978 Terrence Malick Terrence MalickDead Man Walking 1995 Tim Robbins Tim RobbinsDead Zone 1983 David

Cronenberg Jeffrey Boam

Death Wish 1974 Michael Winner Wendell MayesDebt, The 2010 John Madden Matthew Vaughn Jane Goldman et al.Deer Hunter, The 1978 Michael Cimino Deric WashburnDefi ant Ones, The 1958 Stanley Kramer Nathan E. Douglas H.J. SmithDeliverance 1972 John Boorman James DickeyDeparted, The 2006 Martin Scorsese William MonahanDeterrence 2000 Rod Lurie Rod LurieDevil’s Daughter, The 1915 Frank Powell Garfi eld ThompsonDick 1999 Andrew Fleming Sheryl LonginDictator, The 2012 Larry Charles Sacha Baron

CohenAlec Berg et al.

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Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Dirty Harry 1971 Don Siegel John MiliusDisclosure 1994 Barry Levinson Michael Crichton Paul AttanasioDistinguished Gentleman, The

1992 Jonathan Reynolds

Jonathan Reynolds

District 9 2009 Neill Blomkamp Neill Blomkamp Terri TatchellDjango Unchained 2012 Quentin Tarantino Quentin TarantinoDo the Right Thing 1989 Spike Lee Spike LeeDoctor Zhivago 1965 David Lean Robert BoltDog Day Afternoon 1975 Sidney Lumet Frank PiersonDouble Indemnity 1944 Billy Wilder Billy WilderDr. Seuss’ Horton Hears a Who!

2008 Jimmy Hayward, Steve Martino

Ken Daurio Cinco Paul et al.

Dr. Seuss’ The Lorax 2012 Kyle Balda, Chris Renaud

Cinco Paul Ken Daurio et al.

Dr. Strangelove 1964 Stanley Kubrick Stanley Kubrick Terry Southern, Peter George

Dramatic Life of Abraham Lincoln, The

1924 Phil Rosen Frances Marion

Driving Miss Daisy 1989 Steven Spielberg Alfred UhryDry White Season, A 1989 Colin Welland Euzhan Palcy Duck Soup 1933 Leo McCarey Bert Kalmar et al.Eagle Eye 2008 D.J. Caruso John Glenn Travis Wright et al.Earth 2007 Alastair

Fothergill, Mark Linfi eld

Alastair Fothergill Mark Linfi eld

Easy Rider 1969 Dennis Hopper Dennis Hopper Terry SouthernEl Norte 1983 Gregory Nava Gregory Nava Anna ThomasElection 1999 Alexander Payne Alexander Payne Jim TaylorEleni 1985 Peter Yates Steve TesichElysium 2013 Neill Blomkamp Neill BlomkampEmperor 2012 Peter Weber Vera Blasi David Klass et al.End of Watch 2012 David Ayer David AyerEndangered Species 1982 Alan Rudolph Alan Rudolph John BinderEnemy of the State 1998 Tony Scott David MarconiEnforcer, The 1976 James Fargo Stirling Silliphant Dean RiesnerEnron: The Smartest Guys in the Room

2005 Alex Gibney Peter Enkind Alex Gibney et al.

Erin Brockovich 2000 Steven Soderbergh

Susannah Grant

Escape from Planet Earth 2013 Cal Brunker Bob Barlen Carl Brunker et al.Executive Action 1973 David Miller Dalton TrumboExecutive Decision 1996 Stuart Baird Jim Thomas John ThomasExecutive Suite 1954 Robert Wise Ernest Lehman Exodus 1960 Otto Preminger Dalton TrumboExtremely Loud and Incredibly Close

2011 Stephen Daldry Eric Roth Jonathan Safran Foer

Extremities 1986 Robert M. Young William Mastrosimone

F.I.S.T. 1978 Norman Jewison Joe Eszterhas Sylvester StalloneFace in the Crowd, A 1957 Elia Kazan Budd SchulbergFahrenheit 9/11 2004 Michael Moore Michael Moore

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378

Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Fail Safe 1964 Sidney Lumet Walter BernsteinFalcon and the Snowman, The

1985 John Schlesinger Steven Zaillian

Falling Down 1993 Joel Schumacher Ebbe Roe SmithFantastic Four 2005 Tim Story Mark Frost Michael France et al.Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer

2007 Tim Story Don Payne Mark Frost et al.

Far From Heaven 2002 Todd Haynes Todd HaynesFarmer’s Daughter, The 1947 H.C. Potter Allen Rivkin Laura KerrFat Man and Little Boy 1989 Roland Joffe Bruce RobinsonFatal Attraction 1987 Adrian Lyne James Dearden Nicholas MeyerFirst Blood 1982 Ted Kotcheff Michael Kozoll William SeckheirnFirst Family 1980 Buck Henry Buck HenryFirst Lady 1937 Stanley Logan Rowland LeighFirst Monday in October 1981 Ronald Neame Jerome Lawrence Robert E. LeeFlags of Our Fathers 2006 Clint Eastwood William Broyles Jr. Paul Haggis et al.Flight 2012 Robert Zemeckis John GatinsFlightplan 2005 Robert

SchwentkePeter A. Dowling Billy Ray

Fog of War, The 2003 Errol Morris Errol MorrisFool There Was, A 1915 Frank Powell Porter Emerson

BrowneFootloose 2011 Craig Brewer Dean Pitchford Craig Brewer et al.For Greater Glory 2012 Dean Wright Michael LoveFor Whom the Bell Tolls 1943 Sam Wood Dudley NichollsForbidden 1932 Frank Capra Frank CapraForeign Affair 1948 Billy Wilder Billy Wilder Charles BrackettFormula, The 1980 John Avildsen Steven ShaganForrest Gump 1994 Robert Zemeckis Eric Roth48 Hrs 1982 Walter Hill Roger

SpottiswoodeLarry Gross et al.

42 2013 Brian Helgeland Brian HelgelandFour Brothers 2005 John Singleton David Elliot Paul LovettFreedom Writers 2007 Richard

LaGraveneseRichard LaGravenese

Friday Night Lights 2004 Peter Berg David Aaron Cohen Peter BergFront, The 1976 Martin Ritt Walter BernsteinFrost/Nixon 2008 Ron Howard Peter MorganFruitvale Station 2013 Ryan Coogler Ryan CooglerFull Metal Jacket 1987 Stanley Kubrick Stanley Kubrick Gustav HasfordFun with Dick and Jane 2005 Dean Parisot Judd Apatow Nicholas StollerFury 1936 Fritz Lang Fritz Lang Bartlett CormackG.I. Joe: Retaliation 2013 Jon M. Chu Rhett Reese Paul WernickG.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra

2009 Stephen Sommers

Stuart Beattie David Elliot et al.

Gabriel Over the White House

1933 Gregory La Cava Carey Wilson Bertram Bloch

Game Change 2012 Jay Roach Danny Strong Mark Halperin et al.Gandhi 1982 Richard

AttenboroughJohn Briley

Gangs of New York 2002 Martin Scorsese Jay Cocks

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379

Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Gangster Squad 2013 Ruben Fleischer Will Beall Paul LiebermanGardens of Stone 1987 Francis Ford

CoppolaRon Bass

Gasland 2010 Josh Fox Josh FoxGasland Part II 2013 Josh Fox Josh FoxGeneral Died at Dawn, The

1936 Lewis Milestone Clifford Odets

General Idi Amin Dada 1974 Barbet Schroeder Barbet SchroederGeneration P 2011 Victor Ginzburg Djina Ginzburg Victor Ginzburg et al.Gentleman’s Agreement 1947 Elia Kazan Moss HartGentlemen Prefer Blondes

1953 Howard Hawks Charles Lederer

Getting Straight 1970 Richard Rush Robert KaufmanGhosts of Abu Ghraib 2007 Rory Kennedy Mark Bailey Jack YoungelsonGhosts of Mississippi 1996 Rob Reiner Lewis Colick John SealeGiant 1956 George Stevens Fred Guiol Ivan MoffattGirl with the Dragon Tattoo

2011 David Fincher Steven Zaillian

Glass Key, The 1942 Stuart Heisler Jonathan LattimerGlory 1989 Edward Zwick Kevin JarreGo Tell the Spartans 1978 Ted Post Wendell MayesGodfather, The 1972 Francis Ford

CoppolaFrancis Ford Coppola

Godfather, The, Part II 1974 Francis Ford Coppola

Mario Puzo

Golden Compass, The 2007 Chris Weitz Chris WeitzGone Baby Gone 2007 Ben Affl eck Ben Affl eck Aaron StockardGone With the Wind 1939 Victor Fleming Sidney HowardGood Day to Die Hard, A 2013 John Moore Skip Woods Roderick ThorpGood Morning Vietnam 1987 Barry Levinson Mitch MarkowitzGood Night and Good Luck

2005 George Clooney George Clooney Grant Heslov

Good Shepherd, The 2006 Robert De Niro Eric RothGraduate, The 1967 Mike Nichols Buck Henry Calder WillinghamGran Torino 2008 Nick SchenkGrand Canyon 1991 Lawrence

KasdanMeg Kasdan Lawrence Kasdan

Grapes of Wrath, The 1940 John Ford Nunnally JohnsonGrassroots 2012 Stephen

GyllenhaalStephen Gyllenhaal Justin Rhodes

Great Debaters, The 2007 Denzel Washington

Robert Eisele

Great Dictator, The 1940 Charlie Chaplin Charlie ChaplinGreat Gatsby, The 2013 Baz Luhrmann Baz Luhrmann Craig PearceGreat McGinty, The 1940 Preston Sturges Preston SturgesGreat White Hope, The 1970 Martin Ritt Howard SacklerGreed 1923 Erich von

Stroheim Erich von Stroheim

Green Berets, The 1968 John Wayne, Ray Kellogg

James Lee Barrett

Green Zone 2010 Paul Greengrass Brian Helgeland Rajiv ChandrasekaranGreetings 1968 Brian de Palma Brian de Palma

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Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Group, The 1966 Sidney Lumet Sidney BuchmanGuess Who’s Coming to Dinner

1967 Stanley Kramer William Rose

Hail the Conquering Hero 1944 Preston Sturges Preston SturgesHair 1979 Milos Forman Michael WellerHairspray 2007 Adam Shankman Leslie DixonHand That Rocks the Cradle, The

1992 Curtis Hanson Amanda Silver

Hanna 2011 Joe Wright Seth Lochead David FarrHarlan County USA 1977 Barbara Kopple Barbara KoppleHarold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay

2008 John Hurwitz, Hayden Schlossberg

John Hurwitz Hayden Schlossberg

Harriet Craig 1950 Vincent Sherman James Gunn Anne Froelich Head of State 2003 Chris Rock Chris Rock Ali LeRoiHeartbreak Ridge 1986 Clint Eastwood James CarbatsosHearts and Minds 1974 Peter Davis Peter DavisHeaven and Earth 1987 Ulli Lommell Ulli LommellHeaven’s Gate 1980 Michael Cimino Michael CiminoHer Honor the Governor 1926 Chet Withey Doris AndersonHi Mom! 1969 Brian de Palma Brian de PalmaHigh Noon 1952 Fred Zinnemann Carl ForemanHigh School 1968 Frederick

WisemanFrederick Wiseman

Hillary: The Movie 2008 Alan Peterson Alan Peterson Lee Troxler et al.Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

2005 Garth Jennings Douglas Adams Karey Kirkpatrick

Hitler Gang, The 1944 John Farrow Frances Goodrich Albert HackettHitler’s Children 1943 Edward Dmytryk Emmett LaveryHitler’s Madman 1943 Douglas Sirk Melvin Levy, Peretz

HirshbeinDoris Molloy

Hobbit, The: An Unexpected Journey

2012 Peter Jackson Fran Walsh Philippa Boyens et al.

Hoffa 1992 Danny DeVito David MametHollywood on Trial 1976 David Helpern Arnie ReismanHome of the Brave 1949 Mark Robson Carl ForemanHonorary Consul, The 1983 John MacKenzie Christopher

HamptonHospital 1970 Frederick

WisemanFrederick Wiseman

Hostage 2005 Florent-Emilio Siri

Doug Richardson

Hotel Rwanda 2004 Terry George Keir Pearson Terry GeorgeHow to Marry a Millionaire 1953 Jean Negulesco Nunnally JohnsonHuman Stain, The 2003 Robert Benton Nicholas MeyerHunger Games, The 2012 Gary Ross Gary Ross Suzanne Collins et al.Hunger Games, The: Catching Fire

2013 Francis Lawrence Simon Beaufoy Michael Arndt et al.

Hunt for Red October, The

1990 John McTiernan Donald Stewart Larry Ferguson

Hunting of the President, The

2004 Nickolas Perry, Harry Thomason

Nickolas Perry Harry Thomason

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381

Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Hurt Locker, The 2008 Kathryn Bigelow Mark BoalHustle and Flow 2005 Craig Brewer Craig BrewerI Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang

1932 Mervyn LeRoy Sheridan Gibney Brown Holmes, Robert E. Burns

I Am Legend 2007 Francis Lawrence Mark Protosevich Akiva Goldsman et al.I Married a Communist 1949 Robert

StevensonCharles Grayson Robert Hardy Andrews

I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry

2007 Dennis Dugan Barry Fanaro Alexander Payne et al.

I, Robot 2004 Alex Proyas Jeff Vintar Akiva GoldsmanI Spit on Your Grave (Day of the Woman)

1978 Meir Zarchi Meir Zarchi

I Was a Communist for the FBI

1951 Gordon Douglas Crane Wilbur Matt Cvetic

Ides of March, The 2011 George Clooney George Clooney Grant Heslov et al.Idiocracy 2006 Mike Judge Mike Judge Etan CohenIdiot’s Delight 1939 Clarence Brown Robert E.

SherwoodImitation of Life 1959 Douglas Sirk Eleanore Griffi nIn the Heat of the Night 1967 Norman Jewison Sterling SilliphantIn the Line of Fire 1993 Wolfgang

PetersenJeff McGuire

In the Valley of Elah 2007 Paul Haggis Paul HaggisIn the Year of the Pig 1968 Emile de AntonioIn This Our Life 1942 John Huston Howard KochInception 2010 Christopher

NolanChristopher Nolan

Incredible Hulk, The 2008 Louis Leterrier Zak PennIndependence Day 1996 Roland

EmmerichRoland Emmerich

Informant!, The 2009 Steven Soderbergh

Scott Z. Burns

Informer, The 1935 John Ford Dudley NicholsInglourious Basterds 2009 Quentin Tarantino Quentin TarantinoInherit the Wind 1960 Stanley Kramer Nathan E. Douglas Harold J. SmithInside Job 2010 Charles

FergusonCharles Ferguson Chad Beck et al.

Insider, The 1999 Michael Mann Eric Roth Michael MannInternship, The 2013 Shawn Levy Vince Vaughn Jared SternInterpreter 2005 Sydney Pollack Charles Randolph Scott Frank et al.Intolerance 1916 D.W. Griffi th D.W. Griffi thIntruder in the Dust 1949 Clarence Brown Ben MaddowInvasion of the Body Snatchers

1956 Don Siegal Richard Collins Jack Finney, Daniel Mainwaring

Invasion U.S.A. 1985 Joseph Zito James BrunerInvictus 2009 Clint Eastwood Anthony Peckham John CarlinIron Curtain 1948 William Wellman Milton KrimsIron Eagle 1986 Sidney J. Furie Sidney J. Furie Kevin EldersIron Lady, The 2011 Phyllida Lloyd Abi MorganIron Man 2008 Jon Favreau Mark Fergus Hawk OstbyIron Man 2 2010 Jon Favreau Justin TherouxIron Man 3 2013 Shane Black Drew Pearce Shane Black et al.

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APPENDIX

382

Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

It 1927 Clarence G. Badger

Elinor Glyn Hope Loring

J. Edgar 2011 Clint Eastwood Dustin Lance BlackJack Reacher 2012 Christopher

McQuarrieChristopher McQuarrie

Jack the Giant Slayer 2013 Bryan Singer Darren Lemke Christopher McQuarrie et al.

Jarhead 2005 Sam Mendes William Broyles Jr.JFK 1991 Oliver Stone Oliver Stone Zachary SklarJobs 2013 Joshua Michael

SternMatt Whiteley

Joe 1970 John G. Avildson Norman WexlerJohnny Got His Gun 1971 Dalton Trumbo Dalton TrumboJuarez 1939 William Dieterle John Huston et al.Judgment at Nuremburg 1961 Stanley Kramer Abby MannJulia 1977 Fred Zinnemann Alvin SargentKelly’s Heroes 1970 Brian G. Hutton Troy Kennedy

MartinKids Are All Right, The 2010 Lisa Cholodenko Lisa Cholodenko Stuart BlumbergKilling Fields, The 1984 Roland Joffe Bruce RobinsonKing in New York, A 1956 Charles Chaplin Charlie ChaplinKing Kong 1933 Merian C. Cooper Merian C. Cooper Edgar WallaceKing Kong 2005 Peter Jackson Fran Walsh Philippa Boyens et al.Kingdom, The 2007 Peter Berg Matthew Michael

CarnahanKingdom of Heaven 2005 Ridley Scott William MonahanKiss of the Spider Woman 1985 Hector Babenco Leonard SchraderKnife Fight 2012 Bill Guttentag Bill Guttentag Chris LehaneKnowing 2009 Alex Proyas Ryne Douglas

PearsonJuliet Snowden et al.

Kramer vs. Kramer 1979 Robert Benton Robert BentonLadder 49 2004 Jay Russell Lewis ColickLara Croft Tomb Raider: Cradle of Life

2003 Jan de Bont Dean Georgaris

Larry Crowne 2011 Tom Hanks Tom Hanks Nia VardalosLast Hurrah, The 1958 John Ford Frank NugentLast Samurai, The 2003 Edward Zwick John Logan Edward Zwick et al.Last Seduction, The 1994 John Dahl Steve BarancikLast Stand, The 2013 Kim Jee-Woon Andrew KnauerLatino 1985 Haskell Wexler Haskell WexlerLaura 1944 Otto Preminger Vera Caspary Jay DratlerLaw and Order 1969 Frederick

WisemanFrederick Wiseman

Lee Daniels’ The Butler 2013 Lee Daniels Danny StrongLegally Blonde 2: Red, White & Blonde

2003 Charles Herman-Wurmfeld

Kate Kondell

Legend of Zorro, The 2005 Martin Campbell Roberto Orci Alex KurtzmanLeonie 2010 Hisako Matsui Hisako Matsui David Wiener et al.Les Misérables 2012 Tom Hooper William Nicholson Alain Boublil et al.Lethal Weapon 1987 Richard Donner Shane BlackLetters from Iwo Jima 2006 Clint Eastwood Iris Yamashita

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383

Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Lifeboat 1944 Alfred Hitchcock John SteinbeckLimbo 1999 John Sayles John SaylesLimitless 2011 Neil Burger Leslie DixonLincoln 2012 Steven Spielberg Tony Kushner Doris Kearns GoodwinLion Is in the Streets, A 1953 Raoul Walsh Luther DavisLions for Lambs 2007 Robert Redford Matthew Michael

CarnahanLittle Big Man 1970 Arthur Penn Calder WillinghamLittle Drummer Girl, The 1984 George Roy Hill Loring MadelLive Free or Die Hard 2007 Len Wiseman Mark Bomback David Marconi et al.Lone Ranger, The 2013 Gore Verbinski Justin Haythe Ted Elliott et al.Lone Star 1996 John Sayles John SaylesLord of the Rings: The Return of the King

2003 Peter Jackson Fran Walsh Phillippa Boynes et al.

Love Actually 2003 Richard Curtis Richard CurtisMalcolm X 1992 Spike Lee Arnold PerlMan, The 1972 Joseph Sargent Joseph SargentMan of Steel 2013 Zack Snyder David S. Goyer Christopher Nolan et al.Man of the Year 2006 Barry Levinson Barry LevinsonMan on a Tightrope 1953 Elia Kazan Robert SherwoodMan on Fire 2004 Tony Scott Brian HelgelandMan with the Golden Arm, The

1955 Otto Preminger Walter Newman Lewis Meltzer

Manchurian Candidate, The

1962 John Frankenheimer

John Frankenheimer

George Axelrod

Manchurian Candidate, The

2004 Jonathan Demme

Daniel Pyne Dean Gougaris

Manhattan Project, The 1986 Marshall Brickman

Marshall Brickman Thomas Baum

March of the Penguins 2005 Luc Jacquet Luc JacquetMargin Call 2011 J.C. Chandor J.C. ChandorMaria Full of Grace 2004 Joshua Marston Joshua MarstonMarie 1985 Roger Donaldson John BrileyMars Attacks! 1996 Tim Burton Jonathan Gems M*A*S*H 1970 Robert Altman Ring Lardner Jr.Master, The 2012 Paul Thomas

AndersonPaul Thomas Anderson

Matewan 1987 John Sayles John SaylesMatrix, The 1999 Andy and Lana

WachowskiAndy and Lana Wachowski

Matrix Reloaded, The 2003 Andy and Lana Wachowski

Andy and Lana Wachowski

Matrix Reloaded, The 2003 Andy Wachowski, Lana Wachowski

Andy Wachowski Lana Wachowski

Matrix Revolutions, The 2003 Andy Wachowski Larry Wachowski Andy WachowskiMatrix Revolutions, The 2003 Andy Wachowski,

Lana WachowskiAndy Wachowski Lana Wachowski

Max Payne 2008 Beau ThorneMedium Cool 1969 Haskell Wexler Haskell WexlerMeet John Doe 1941 Frank Capra Robert RiskinMen in Black 1997 Barry Sonnenfi eld Ed Solomon

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Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Men Who Stare at Goats, The

2009 Grant Heslov Peter Straughan

Men with Guns 1997 John Sayles John SaylesMenace II Society 1993 Albert and Allen

Hughes Albert and Allen Hughes

Tyger Williams

Michael Clayton 2007 Tony Gilroy Tony GilroyMilagro Beanfi eld War, The

1988 Robert Redford John Nichols David Ward

Mildred Pierce 1945 Michael Curtiz James M. Cain Ranald MacDougall Milhouse 1971 Emile de AntonioMilk 2008 Gus Van Sant Dustin Lance BlackMissing 1982 Costa-Gavras Costa-Gavras Donald StewartMissing in Action 1984 Joseph Zito Joseph ZitoMission, The 1986 Roland Joffee Robert BoltMission: Impossible—Ghost Protocol

2011 Brad Bird Josh Appelbaum Andre Nemec

Mission: Impossible III 2006 J.J. Abrams Alex Kurtzman Roberto Orci et al.Mission to Moscow 1943 Michael Curtiz Howard KochMississippi Burning 1988 Alan Parker Chris GerolmoMoneyball 2011 Bennett Miller Steven Zaillian Aaron SorkinMonkey Business 1952 Howard Hawks Harry Segall Ben HechtMonsieur Verdoux 1947 Charles Chaplin Charlie ChaplinMoon Over Parador 1988 Paul Mazursky Paul Mazursky Leon CapetanosMr. and Mrs. Smith 2005 Doug Liman Simon KinbergMr. Deeds Goes to Town 1936 Frank Capra Robert RiskinMr. Mom 1983 Stan Dragoti John HughesMr. Smith Goes to Washington

1939 Frank Capra Sidney Buchman

Mrs. Miniver 1942 William Wyler George Froeschel James Hilton, Jan Struther Ms. 45 1981 Abel Ferrara Nicholas St. JohnMulberry Child 2011 Susan Morgan

CooperSusan Morgan Cooper

Munich 2005 Steven Spielberg Tony Kushner Eric RothMurder at 1600 1997 Dwight H. Little Wayne Beach David HodginMusic Box 1989 Costa-Gavras Joe EszterhasMy Fellow Americans 1994 Peter Segal E. Jack Kaplan Richard Chapman, Peter

TolanMy Man Godfrey 1936 Gregory La Cava Gregory La Cava Morrie Riskind et al.My Son John 1952 Leo McCarey Myles ConnellyMystic River 2003 Clint Eastwood Brian HelgelandNanook of the North 1922 Robert J.

FlahertyRobert J. Flaherty

Nashville 1975 Robert Altman Joan TewkesburyNational Treasure 2004 Jon Turteltaub Jim Kouf Cormac Wibberley et al.National Treasure: Book of Secrets

2007 Jon Turteltaub Marianne Wibberley

Cormac Wibberley

Natural Born Killers 1994 Oliver Stone Oliver Stone David Veloz, Richard Rutowski

Navy SEALs 1990 Lewis Teague Chuck Pfarrer Gary GoldmanNetwork 1976 Sidney Lumet Paddy ChayefskyNew Jack City 1991 Mario Van

PeeblesThomas Lee Wright Barry Michael Cooper

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385

Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

9 to 5 1980 Colin Higgins Colin Higgins1969Nixon 1995 Oliver Stone Oliver Stone Stephen J. RiveleNo Country for Old Men 2007 Ethan Coen, Joel

CoenJoel Coen Ethan Coen

No Way Out 1987 Roger Donaldson Robert GarlandNorma Rae 1979 Martin Ritt Irving Ravetch Frank Harriet Jr.North Star, The 1943 Lewis Milestone Lillian HellmanNow You See Me 2013 Louis Leterrier Ed Solomon Boaz Yakin et al.Obama Effect, The 2012 Charles S. Dutton Charles S. Dutton Barry Hankerson et al.Oblivion 2013 Joseph Kosinski Karl Gajdusek Michael Arndt et al.Old Gringo 1989 Luis Puenzo Alda Bortnik Luis PuenzoOlympus Has Fallen 2013 Antoine Fuqua Creighton

RothenbergerKatrin Benedikt

On the Beach 1959 Stanley Kramer John Paxton James Lee BarrettOn the Waterfront 1954 Elia Kazan Budd SchulbergOne, Two, Three 1961 Billy Wilder Billy WilderOrphans of the Storm 1921 D.W. Griffi th D.W. Griffi thOur Blushing Brides 1930 Bess Meredyth John Howard

LawsonOur Daily Bread 1934 King Vidor King Vidor Elizabeth HillOur Dancing Daughters 1928 Harry Beaumont Josephine LovittOur Modern Maidens 1929 Jack Conway Marian Ainslee Ruth CummingsOutfoxed: Rupert Murdoch’s War on Journalism

2004 Robert Greenwald

Oz: The Great and Powerful

2013 Sam Raimi Mitchell Kapner David Lindsay-Abaire et al.

Pacifi c Rim 2013 Guillermo del Toro

Travis Beacham Guillermo del Toro

Paid 1930 Sam Wood Bayard Veiller Lucien HubbardParallax View, The 1974 Alan J. Pakula David Giler Lorenzo Semple Jr.Passion of the Christ, The 2004 Mel Gibson Benedict Fitzgerald Mel Gibson

Paths of Glory 1957 Stanley Kubrick Stanley Kubrick Calder Willingham, Jim Thompson

Patriot Games 1992 Phillip Noyce W. Peter Illif Donald StewartPatton 1969 Franklin

SchaffnerFrancis Ford Coppola

Edmund H. North

Pawnbroker, The 1965 Sidney Lumet David Friedkin Morton FinePeople vs. Larry Flynt, The

1996 Milos Forman Scott Alexander Larry Karaszewski

Phantom President, The 1932 Norman Taurog Walter de Leon Harlan ThompsonPineapple Express 2008 David Gordon

GreenSeth Rogen Evan Goldberg

Pinky 1949 Elia Kazan Phillip Dunne Dudley NicholsPlace Beyond the Pines 2012 Derek Cianfrance Derek Cianfrance Ben Coccio et al.Places in the Heart 1984 Robert Benton Robert BentonPlainsman, The 1936 Cecile B. DeMille Waldemar Young

et al.Waldemar YoungHarold LambLynn Riggs

Planet 51 2009 Javier Abad, Jorge Blanco et al.

Joe Stillman

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386

Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Planet of the Apes 1968 Franklin J. Schaffner

Michael Wilson Rod Serling

Platoon 1986 Oliver Stone Oliver StonePoint of Order 1964 Emile de Antonio Emile de Antonio Robert DuncanPolitics 1931 Charles Reiner Wells RootPossessed 1931 Clarence Brown Edgar SelwynPossessed 1947 Curtis Bernhardt Ranald MacDougall Lawrence MenkinPower 1986 Sidney Lumet David HimmelsteinPrecious 2009 Lee Daniels Geoffery Fletcher SapphirePresident Vanishes, The 1934 William Wellman Cary Wilson Cedric WorthPrimary Colors 1998 Mike Nichols Elaine MayPrincess and the Frog, The

2009 Ron Clements, John Musker

Ron Clements John Musker et al.

Private Files of J. Edgar Hoover, The

1978 Larry Cohen Larry Cohen

Promised Land 2012 Gus Van Sant John Krasinski Matt Damon et al.Protocol 1984 Herbert Ross Buck HenryP.T. 109 1963 Leslie Martinson Richard L. BreenPublic Enemies 2009 Michael Mann Ronan Bennett Michael Mann et al.Public Enemy, The 1931 William A.

WellmanKubec Glasman John Bright

Public Housing 1997 Frederick Wiseman

Frederick Wiseman

Pull Down the Curtains, Suzie

1904 American Mutoscope & Biograph Company

Pulp Fiction 1994 Quentin Tarantino Quentin TarantinoPurge, The 2013 James DeMonaco James DeMonacoPursuit of Happyness, The 2006 Gabriele Muccino Steve ConradQuarantine 2008 John Erick

DowdleJohn Erick Dowdle Drew Dowdle

Queen Bee 1955 Ranald MacDougall

Edna L. Lee Ranald MacDougall

Quiet American, The 1958 Joseph L. Mankiewicz

Joseph L. Mankiewicz

Quiet American, The 2002 Phillip Noyce Robert SchenkkanRagtime 1981 Milos Forman Michael WellerRally Round the Flag, Boys

1958 Leo McCarey Leo McCarey Claude Binyon

Rambo 2008 Sylvester Stallone

Art Monterastelli Sylvester Stallone

Rambo: First Blood, Part II

1985 George Pan Cosmatos

James Cameron Sylvester Stallone

Rambo III 1988 Peter Macdonald Sylvester StalloneRebel Without a Cause 1955 Nicholas Ray Nicholas Ray Irving Shulman, Stewart

SternRecount 2010 Jay Roach Danny StrongRecruit, The 2003 Roger Donaldson Roger Towne Kurt Wimmer et al.Red Dawn 1984 John Milius John Milius Kevin ReynoldsRed Dawn 2012 Dan Bradley Carl Ellsworth Jeremy Passmore et al.Red Tails 2012 Anthony

HemingwayJohn Ridley Aaron McGruder

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387

Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

RedEye 2005 Wes Craven Carl EllsworthReds 1981 Warren Beatty Warren Beatty Trevor Griffi thsReefer Madness 1938 Louis Gasnier Arthur HoerlRendition 2007 Gavin Hood Kelley SaneRent 2005 Chris Columbus Stephen ChboskyRestrepo 2010 Tim

Hetherington, Sebastian Junger

Tim Hetherington Sebastian Junger

Return of the Secaucus Seven

1980 John Sayles John Sayles

Revolution 1985 Hugh Hudson Hugh HudsonRight Stuff, The 1983 Phillip Kaufman Phillip KaufmanRise of the Planet of the Apes

2011 Rupert Wyatt Rick Jaffa Amanda Silver

River, The 1984 Mark Rydell Robert Dillon Julian BarryRoad, The 2009 John Hilllcoat Joe Penhall Cormac McCarthyRobin Hood 2010 Ridley Scott Brian HelgelandRocky 1976 Sylvester

StalloneSylvester Stallone

Rocky IV 1985 Sylvester Stallone

Sylvester Stallone

Roger & Me 1989 Michael Moore Michael MooreRolling Thunder 1977 John Flynn Paul Schrader Heywood GouldRollover 1981 Alan J. Pakula David ShaberRomero 1989 John Duigan John Sacret YoungRunaway Jury 2003 Gary Fleder Brian Koppelman David Levien et al.Running on Empty 1988 Sidney Lumet Naomi FonerRussia House 1990 Fred Schepisi Tom StoppardRussians Are Coming!, The

1966 Norman Jewison William Rose

Sacrifi ce 2011 Damian Lee Damian LeeSalome 1908 J. Stuart Blackton Oscar Wilde (play) Theodore A. Liebler Jr.

(scenario)Salt 2010 Phillip Noyce Kurt WimmerSalt of the Earth 1954 Herbert

BibermanMichael Wilson

Salvador 1986 Oliver Stone Oliver Stone Richard BoyleSaving Lincoln 2013 Salvador Litvak Nina Davidovich Salvador LitvakSaving Private Ryan 1998 Steven Spielberg Robert RodatSchindler’s List 1993 Steven Spielberg Karl Luedtke Steven ZaillianSea Hawk, The 1940 Michael Curtiz Howard KochSecret Honor 1994 Robert Altman Donald Freed Arnold StoneSeduction of Joe Tynan, The

1979 Jerry Schatzberg Alan Alda

Seeking a Friend for the End of the World

2012 Lorene Scafaria Lorene Scafaria

Senator Was Indiscreet, The

1947 George Kaufman Charles MacArthur

Sentinel, The 2006 Clark Johnson George Nolfi Serenity 2005 Joss Whedon Joss WhedonSergeant York 1941 Howard Hawks Ben Finkel Harry ChandlerSeven Days in May 1964 John

Frankenheimer Rod Serling

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Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Seven Year Itch, The 1955 Billy Wilder Billy Wilder George AxlerodShaft 1971 Gordon Parks Jr. John D.F. Black Ernest TidymanShaft in Africa 1973 John Guillermin Stirling SilliphantShaft’s Big Score 1972 Gordon Parks Jr. Ernest TidymanShampoo 1975 Hal Ashby Robert Towne Warren BeattyShe Devil, The 1918 J. Gordon

EdwardsGeorge James Hopkins

Ship of Fools 1965 Stanley Kramer Abby MannShooter 2007 Antoine Fuqua Jonathan LemkinShort Circuit 1986 John Badham S.S. Wilson Brent MaddockSicko 2007 Michael Moore Michael MooreSide Effects 2013 Steven

SoderberghScott Z. Burns

Siege, The 1998 Edward Zwick Lawrence WrightSilkwood 1983 Mike Nichols Nora Ephron Alice ArleSilver Linings Playbook 2012 David O. Russell David O. Russell Matthew QuickSimpsons Movie, The 2007 David Silverman James L. Brooks Matt Groening et al.Sin 1915 Herbert Brenon Herbert Brenon Sin City 2005 Frank Miller,

Robert Rodrigues et al.

Frank Miller

Single White Female 1992 Barbet Schroeder Don RoosSiren of Hell 1915 Raoul WalshSky Captain and the World of Tomorrow

2004 Kerry Conran Kerry Conran

Skyfall 2012 Sam Mendes Neal Purvis Robert Wade et al.Slumdog Millionaire 2008 Danny Boyle,

Loveleen TandanSimon Beaufoy

Small Circle of Friends 1980 Rob Cohen Ezra SacksSnakes on a Plane 2006 David R. Ellis John Heffernan Sebastian GutierrezSocial Network, The 2010 David Fincher Aaron SorkinSoul Food 1997 George Tilman

Jr. George Tilman Jr.

Soul Man 1986 Steve Miner Carol BlackSource Code 2011 Duncan Jones Ben RipleySpy Who Came In from the Cold, The

1966 Martin Ritt Paul Deb

Star Chamber, The 1983 Peter Hyams Peter HyamsStar Wars 1977 George Lucas George LucasStar Wars: Episode III—Revenge of the Sith

2005 George Lucas George Lucas

State of Play 2009 Kevin Macdonald Matthew Michael Carnahan

Tony Gilroy et al.

State of Siege 1973 Costa-Gavras Costa-Gavras Franco SolinasState of the Union 1948 Frank Capra Anthony Veiller Miles ConnellyStealth 2005 Rob Cohen W.D. RichterSteelyard Blues 1972 Alan Myerson David S. WardStepford Wives, The 2004 Frank Oz Paul RudnickStop Loss 2008 Kimberly Peirce Mark Richard Kimberly PeirceStorm Center 1956 Daniel Taradash Daniel TaradashStorm Warning 1950 Stuart Heisler Daniel Fuchs Richard Brooks

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389

Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Strategic Air Command 1955 Anthony Mann Valentine Davies Beirne Lay Jr.Strawberry Statement, The

1970 Stuart Hagmann Israel Horovitz

Sullivan’s Travels 1941 Preston Sturges Preston SturgesSum of All Fears, The 2002 Phil Alden

RobinsonPaul Attanasio Daniel Pyne

Sunrise 1927 F.W. Murnau Carl MayerSunrise at Campobello 1960 Vincent J.

Donohue Dore Schary

Sunshine State 2003 John Sayles John SaylesSuper Size Me 2004 Morgan Spurlock Morgan SpurlockSuperfl y 1972 Gordon Parks Jr. Phillip FentySuperman Returns 2006 Bryan Singer Michael Dougherty Dan HarrisSweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

2007 Tim Burton John Logan

Sweet Sweetback’s Baadassss Song

1971 Melvin Van Peebles

Melvin Van Peebles

Swimfan 2002 John Polson Charles F. Bohl Phillip SchneiderSyriana 2005 Stephen Gaghan Stephen Gaghan Robert BaerTaking of Pelham 123, The

2009 Tony Scott Brian Helgeland

Taxi Driver 1976 Martin Scorsese Paul SchraderTeam America World Police

2004 Trey Parker Trey Parker Matt Stone et al.

Tell Them Willie Boy Is Here

1969 Abraham Polonsky

Abraham Polonsky

Tender Comrade 1943 Edward Dmytryk Dalton TrumboTerminator Salvation 2009 McG John D. Brancato Michael FerrisTerminator 3: Rise of the Machines

2003 Jonathan Mostow John D. Brancato Michael Ferris et al.

Testament 1983 Lynne Littman John Sacret YoungThelma and Louise 1991 Ridley Scott Callie KhouriThere Will Be Blood 2007 Paul Thomas

AndersonPaul Thomas Anderson

There’s Always Tomorrow 1956 Douglas Sirk Ursula Parrott Bernard C. ShoenfeldThey Won’t Forget 1937 Mervyn LeRoy Robert Rossen Aben KandelThin Blue Line, The 1988 Errol Morris Errol MorrisThirteen Days 2000 Roger Donaldson David SelfThis Is The End 2013 Evan Goldberg,

Seth RogenSeth Rogen Evan Goldberg

Three Days of the Condor 1975 Sydney Pollack Lorenzo Semple Jr. David Rayfi el300 2006 Zack Snyder Zack Snyder Kurt Johnstad et al.Three Kings 1999 David O. Russell David O. Russell John Ridley3:10 to Yuma 2007 James Mangold Halsted Welles Michael Brandt et al.Titicut Follies 1967 Frederick

WisemanFrederick Wiseman

To Be or Not to Be 1942 Ernest Lubitsch Edwin Justus Mayer

To Kill a Mockingbird 1962 Robert Mulligan Horton FooteTootsie 1982 Sydney Pollack Don Maguire Larry GelbartTop Gun 1986 Tony Scott Jim Cash Jack Epps Jr.

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Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

Total Recall 2012 Len Wiseman Kurt Wimmer Mark BombackTower Heist 2011 Brett Ratner Ted Griffi n Jeff NathansonTraffi c 2000 Steven

SoderberghStephen Gaghan

Transformers 2007 Michael Bay Roberto Orci Alex Kurtzman et al.Transformers: Dark of the Moon

2011 Michael Bay Ehren Kruger

Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen

2009 Michael Bay Ehren Kruger Roberto Orci et al.

Tron Legacy 2010 Joseph Kosinski Edward Kitsis Adam HorowitzTropic Thunder 2008 Ben Stiller Justin Theroux Etan Cohen et al.Troy 2004 Wolfgang

PetersonDavid Benioff

True Lies 1994 James Cameron James CameronTruman Show, The 1998 Peter Weir Andrew NicholTurning Point, The 1977 Herbert Ross Arthur LaurentsTwelve Angry Men 1957 Sidney Lumet Reginald Rose2016 Obama’s America 2012 Dinesh D’Souza,

John SullivanDinesh D’Souza John Sullivan

2012 2009 Roland Emmerich

Roland Emmerich Harald Kloser

Twilight’s Last Gleaming 1977 Robert Aldrich Ronald Cohen Edward Huebsh2 Guns 2013 Baltasar

KormakurBlake Masters Steven Grant

Ugly American, The 1963 George Englund Stewart SternUnder Fire 1983 Roger

Spottiswoode Ron Shelton Clayton Frohman

Union Pacifi c 1939 Cecil B. DeMille Walter de Leon et al.

United 93 2006 Paul Greengrass Paul GreengrassUnmarried Woman, An 1978 Paul Mazursky Paul MazurskyUp in the Air 2009 Jason Reitman Jason Reitman Sheldon TurnerValkyrie 2008 Bryan Singer Christopher

McQuarrieNathan Alexander

Vanishing American, The 1926 George Seitz Ethel DohertyVerdict, The 1982 Sidney Lumet Sidney LumetViva Villa 1934 Jack Conway Ben HechtViva Zapata! 1952 Elia Kazan John SteinbeckVixen, The 1916 J. Gordon

Edwards Mary Murillo

W. 2008 Oliver Stone Stanley WeiserWag the Dog 1997 Barry Levinson Hilary Henkin David MametWaiting for Superman 2010 Davis

GuggenheimDavis Guggenheim Billy Kimball

Walker 1987 Alex Cox Rudy WurlitzerWall Street 1987 Oliver Stone Dorothy Tristan John HancockWall Street: Money Never Sleeps

2010 Oliver Stone Alan Loeb Stephen Schiff et al.

WALL-E 2008 Andrew Stanton Andrew Stanton Jim Reardon et al.Walmart: The High Cost of Low Prices

2005 Robert Greenwald

War Horse 2011 Steven Spielberg Lee Hall Richard Curtis

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CLOSING CREDITS: A POLITICAL FILMOGRAPHY

391

Title Year Director Screenwriter Additional writers

War of the Worlds 2005 Steven Spielberg Josh Friedman David KoeppWarGames 1983 John Badham Lawrence Lesker Walter ParkesWashington Masquerade 1932 Charles Brabin John Meehan Samuel BlytheWashington Merry-Go-Round, The

1932 James Cruze Jo Swerling

Washington Story, The 1952 Robert Pirosh Robert PiroshWasp Woman, The 1959 Roger Corman Leo GordonWatch on the Rhine 1942 Herman Shumlin Dashiell HammettWatchmen 2009 Zack Snyder David Hayter Alex TseWay Down East 1920 D.W. Griffi th Anthony Paul KellyWay We Were, The 1973 Sydney Pollack Arthur LaurentsWe Are Marshall 2006 McG Jamie LindenWest of Memphis 2012 Amy Berg Amy Berg Billy McMillinWest of Thunder 2012 Jody Marriott

Bar-Lev, Steve Russell

Jody Marriott Bar-Lev

Dan Davies

What Every Woman Knows

1921 William C. de Mille

Olga Printzlau J.M. Barrie

What Happened on Twenty-Third Street, New York City

1901 George S. Fleming and Edwin S. Porter

When a Woman Sins 1918 J. Gordon Edwards

Betta Breuil

When the Levees Broke 2006 Spike LeeWhite House Down 2013 Roland

EmmerichJames Vanderbilt

White Nights 1985 Taylor Hackford James Goldman Eric HughesWho’ll Stop the Rain 1978 Karl Reisz Judith RascoeWild in the Streets 1968 Barry Shear Robert ThomWild River 1960 Elia Kazan Paul OsbornWilson 1944 Henry King Lamar TrottiWindtalkers 2002 John Woo John Rice Joe BatteerWinter Kills 1979 William Richert William RichertWon’t Back Down 2012 Daniel Barnz Brin Hill Daniel BarnzWorking Girl 1988 Mike Nichols Kevin WadeWorld Trade Center 2006 Oliver Stone Andrea Berloff John McLoughlin et al.World War Z 2013 Marc Forster Matthew Michael

CarnahanDrew Goddard et al.

WUSA 1970 Stuart Rosenberg

Stuart Rosenberg

xXx: State of the Union 2005 Lee Tamahori Simon KinbergYoung Mr. Lincoln 1939 John Ford Lamar TrottiZ 1968 Costa-Gavras Costa-Gavras Jorge SampronZero Dark Thirty 2012 Kathryn Bigelow Mark BoalZoot Suit 1981 Luis Valdez Luis Valdez

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Index

Page numbers in bold refer to images; page numbers in italics refer to notes.

Abe Lincoln in Illinois , 79, 117, 372 abortion, 34, 67, 75, 147, 172, 232, 244, 258, 315,

325, 334–335, 339 Absolute Power , 17, 18, 44, 230, 235 , 372 Abu Ghraib, 286, 349, 379 Academy Awards, 16, 30, 63 , 66, 106, 119, 132,

156, 178, 183, 187, 189, 199, 200, 201, 207, 210, 214, 271, 294, 295, 297, 304

Accused, The , 330, 332, 372 ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union), 72, 226 action hero (action movies), viii, 13, 28, 31, 32, 44,

47, 72, 78, 80–81, 83, 87, 154, 222, 224, 228, 240, 351

activist, vii, 30, 43, 46, 62, 74, 123, 124, 157, 164, 173, 179, 180, 182, 187, 199, 208, 211, 232, 280, 284, 285, 288, 294, 297, 304, 306, 331, 344

activism, 63, 77, 113, 154, 165, 170, 199, 207, 208, 215, 270, 293, 306

actors and acting, 45–48 actualities, 270 adaptation, 10, 26, 117, 142, 159, 212, 234, 299,

341, 355 adultery, 42, 69, 319, 320 Advise and Consent , 154, 157–160, 175, 176, 372 advocacy documentaries, 277, 278, 283 Aeneid, The, 347 Affl eck, Ben 8, 23, 35, 74, 238, 251–253, 308, 372,

379 Affordable Care Act, 4, 265 Afghanistan, 8, 243, 244, 250, 286 African-American, ( See Chapter 14 ), 46, 49, 97,

98, 102, 133, 145, 165, 220, 244, 245, 270, 280, 287, 292, 293, 296, 297, 299, 301–305, 307, 309–11, 338, 353, 365

Afro, 361

Against Our Will: Men, Women and Rape , 331 AIDS, 5, 47, 258, 258–260 Air Force Entertainment Liaison Offi ce, 83, 90 Air Force One , 19, 44, 231 , 223, 227–228, 351,

372 Airport , 359 Alamo Bay , 200–201, 372 Alda, Alan, 174, 175 Aldrich, Robert, 185, 390 Alien , 12 Alienation, 38, 103, 166–167, 189, 233–234, 323 Aliens, 29 Aliens (space), 15, 16, 26, 44, 62, 147, 148, 227,

234, 261, 287, 352, 357, 359, 366, 368, 373 All Quiet on the Western Front , 12, 104, 106, 124,

372 All The President’s Men , 4, 31, 37, 38, 42, 43, 169 ,

176–178, 180, 182, 191, 244, 253, 259, 372 All The King’s Men , 121 , 135, 146, 175, 372 allegory, 7, 13, 66, 139, 140, 142, 147, 165, 346–

349, 356 Allen, Woody, 35, 181–182, 372, 373 al-Qaeda, 240, 242, 280, 364, 369 Altman, Robert, 37–38, 43–44, 155, 167, 183, 218,

238–239, 263 , 383, 384, 387 AFI (American Film Institute), 102, 104 , 156 ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union), 72, 226 Allen, Joan, 313, 334 American Graffi ti , 170, 185, 372 American Legion, 141, 144 American President, The , 13, 34, 44, 226–227 Amistad , 10, 299, 312, 372 amputee, 15–16, 131 Anaconda , 363 anarchy, 37, 270 androgynous, 318, 324

393

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INDEX

394

…And Justice For All , 31 Angel Eyes , 16 Annapolis , 82 Anschutz Corporation, 86, 90 Anticapitalism, ( See Chapter 9 ) antifascism, 111, 122–129, 182 antirevolutionary, 146, 211–212 antiwar, 103, 106, 154, 164–167, 170–171, 180,

182, 185–188, 206–208, 224, 225, 238, 241, 244

apathy (political), 38, 170, 188, 200, 221, 244, 284 Apocalypse Now , 36, 38, 82, 187–189, 196, 214,

241, 372 apocalypse, 161–163, 203, 347–349, 364, 369 apocalyptic, viii, 56, 73, 253, 258, 261, 263,

306, 308, 344, 345, 347, 348, 356, 359, 362, 364–367

apocalyptic fi lms of the twenty-fi rst century, 344, 364–368

apocalyptic fi lms and camp, 346–349 apocalyptic fi lms and allegory, 346–349 Apocalypto , 372 apolitical fi lms, 7, 14, 127, 138, 147 apolitical, 150, 207, 212 Arab, 46, 203, 204, 216, 223–224, 234 , 238, 275,

287 Arachnophobia , 363 Arbitrage , 20, 260, 372 Argo , 3 , 5, 7, 8, 23 , 30, 87, 253–256, 264 , 276 , 372 Aryan, 100 Ashby, Hal, 189, 373, 375, 375, 388 Ashitey, Clare-Hope, 348 assassination, 30, 38, 41, 43, 56, 166, 176, 212,

359 Attack of the 50 Foot Woman , 324, 358, 373 Atlas Shrugged , 10, 372 Atomic Café , 271–274, 372 Auteur, 11–12, 14, 35, 58 Avatar, vii, 30, 32, 58 , 373 Avengers, The , 62 Avenging angels, 330–333

baby boom, 122, 218, 325, 334 Baby Boom , 328–329, 341 , 373 Bachmann, Michelle, 364, 369 Back to Bataan, 129 , 241, 373 backlash logic, 330 Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American

Women , 24 , 326 Bait , 301, 373 Baldwin, Alec, 74, 222, 238 Ballad of Little Jo, The , 33 Bamboozled , 12, 291 , 299–300, 372 Bara, Theda, 45, 315 , 317

Barbershop , 300–301, 373 Barthes, Roland, 23 Basic Instinct , 325, 327–328, 373 Bataan , 129, 241 Batista, Fulgencio, 254 Batman , 73 Battle for Haditha , 243–244 Battle Los Angeles , 364, 373 Battleship , 15, 16 , 367, 373 Baudrillard, Jean, 238, 263 Beatty, Warren, 43, 183, 205 , 204–207, 220 , 374,

387, 388 Beetlejuice , 227 Being There , 190–191, 373 Beloved , 299, 373 Berg, Peter, 250, 373, 378, 382 Best Man, The , 159–160, 373 Best Years of Our Lives, The , 23 , 131–133, 242,

187, 373 Betrayed , 30, 295–296, 373 Beverly Hills Cop , 298, 373 Bible, 141, 258, 263 Biden, Joe, 57 Biel, Jessica, 242 Big Chill, The , 208–209, 373 Big Jim McLain , 141, 189, 373 Big Parade, The , 30, 103– 104 , 106, 111, 140, 373 Big Wednesday , 185, 373 Bigelow, Kathryn, 35–38, 58 , 84, 90 , 245–249,

263–264 , 381, 391 biopic (political), 4, 22 , 146, 157, 254–258, 336–

340, 337 biopic (social-political), 258–261 biopic, 16, 268, 270, 349 Birds , The, 345–346, 346 , 368, 369 Birth of a Nation, The , 11, 30, 53, 67, 68, 95 ,

97–102, 99 , 102 , 106, 114, 117, 126, 165, 292–293, 300, 305, 316–317, 373

Blackboard Jungle, The , 145 Black Hawk Down , 238, 373 Biskind, Peter, 58 , 70, 147–148, 151 , 192 blackface, 99 , 100, 312 , blacks-in-burnt-cork, 292 Black Fury , 112–114, 351 Black Legion , 113, 373 blacklist, 28, 64–66, 69, 88 , 115, 142, 143, 150 ,

151 , 155, 162, 165, 167, 180–182, 350 Blaxploitation, 297, 303 Blindside, The , 309, 374 Blockade , 110, 123, 374 blockbuster, 100, 154, 327, 344 Blomkamp, Neill, 349, 367, 377 Blow Out , 14, 374 blue-collar, 167, 179, 180, 189, 198, 199, 322, 330,

345, 350

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INDEX

395

Blue Collar , 189, 374 Blue Steel , 16, 37 Boal, Mark, 249, 264 , 381, 391 Bob Roberts , 221, 374 Bobby , 254 Bodyguard, The , 301 Boehner, John, 251 Bogart, Humphrey, 113, 127 Border, The , 209, 374 Born Yesterday, 145–146, 374 Born On the Fourth of July, 224, 374 Bound for Glory , 189, 374 Bourne Identity, The , 7, 62, 374 Bourne Supremacy, The , 248, 374 Bowling for Columbine , 270, 272–274, 374 Boys in Company C, The, 185–188, 374 Boyz N the Hood , 297, 374 Brain Eaters, The, 357 Brain That Wouldn’t Die, The, 357 Brain from Planet Arous, The, 357, 358 Brain, The, 357 brainwashing, 155, 161, 357, 364 Brando, Marlon, 62– 63, 143–146, 157, 187–188 Breen, Joseph, 70 Brokeback Mountain , 6, 374 Broken Arrow , 145, 165, 374 Broken Barriers , 102 Broken Blossoms , 67 Brubaker , 12, 201, 374 Bulworth , 21, 26, 41, 49, 218, 220 –221, 374 bundlers (Hollywood), 75 bureaucracy, 174, 200–204, 230, 365, bureaucrats, 34, 197, 203, 204, 210, 368, 241, 301,

367–368 Bush, George H.W., ( See Chapter 10 ), 78, 194,

206, 218, 219, 229, 340 Bush, George W., ( See Chapter 12 ), vii, 20, 62,

89 , 222, 225, 238–244, 248–250, 252, 254, 256–258, 261, 264–265 , 274–275, 279–281, 284–286, 301, 336, 339–340, 366, 368

Camelot, 150 camp, 140, 327, 346–349, 354, 362, 363 campaigns (electoral), 11, 12, 23 , 28, 29, 36, 38,

48, 55, 62, 73–77, 80, 88, 89 , 109, 125, 130, 133, 149, 171–178, 183, 203, 204, 220–222, 229, 281, 283, 319, 320, 333, 337–340, 345, 359, 363, 364

Campaign, The , 7, 12, 36, 77, 77 , 374 Candidate, The , 7, 12, 38, 171–176, 172 , 180, 182,

183, 191, 244, 374 Capitalism: A Love Story , 281, 283, 374 capitalist, 354 Capitol Hill, 365

Capra, Frank, 115–117, 119 , 134, 160, 286, 322, 372, 378, 383, 384, 388

CARA (Classifi cation and Ratings Administration), 71–72

Cars 2 , 29 Carter, Jimmy, ( See Chapter 9 ), 170, 178, 183,

194, 209, 354 cartoon (animation), 12, 31, 46, 65, 80, 221, 273,

300 cartoon (print), 232 Casablanca , 13, 35, 127–128, 374 Casualties of War , 214, 243, 375 Catch 22, 167, 375 Catholics (censorship), 68, 70 Catholics (onscreen), 39, 141 Catholic church, 213, 279 celebrity (celebrities), 74–78, 184 censorship (censor, censors), 66–73, 88 , 90 , 124,

131, 155, 292 centralization of fi lm industry, 84–86 Cesar Chavez , 260, 264 CGI (computer generated imagery), 50, 72, 234,

257, 297 Chandler, Raymond, 387 Chaplin, Charlie, 124, Charlie Wilson’s War , 8, 9 , 260, 375 Chastain, Jessica, 41 Chayefsky, Paddy, 184, 384 Chavez, Cesar, 260, 261 Che! , 170, 375 Che: Part One and Che: Part Two , 254–255 Cheney, Richard, ( See Chapter 12 ), 242, 248, 256,

261, 280, 286–287, 368 Chandler, Raymond, 323 Cheyenne Autumn , 165, 375 Children of Men , 348–349, 348 , 349 , 368, 369 , 375 Chinatown , 176, 184, 375 China Syndrome, The , 12, 43, 53, 55, 56, 178–180,

191, 198–199, 201, 375 CIA, 41 , 161, 176, 211, 238, 249, 250, 253–254,

359 cinematic language, viii, 308, 344 Citizen Kane , 42–43, 118, 125–127, 130, 232, 375 Citizen Ruth , 34, 232, 375 Citizens United , 75–77, 76 , 89 , 279, 364 Citizenship, 69, 252 Civil Action, A , 10, 232, 375 Civil rights, 75, 138, 154, 165, 166, 180, 182, 202,

224, 263, 293–296, 301, 306, 308, 325, 346 Civil War (American), 46, 64, 98, 101, 114, 255–

256, 256, 299 Civil War (Spanish), 113, 122–123, 127 civilian, 131, 132, 213 , 243 civilization, 6, 360

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INDEX

396

Civilization , 81 Clansman, The , 98 Clean Air Act, 354 Clean Water Act, 284, 354 Clear and Present Danger, 222, 230, 375 Cleopatra , 314– 315 , 375 climate change, 62–63, 261 , 261–262 Clinton, Bill, 74, 194, 218–220, 226, 227, 229,

276, 279, 333–335, 340 Clinton, Hillary Rodham, 76, 76 , 276, 288, 290 ,

327, 335–336 Clooney, George, 30, 35, 51–52, 59, 74, 87, 225,

379, 381 Close Encounters of the Third Kind , 14, 170, 375 Clover, Carol, 17 Coffy , 294, 375 Cold War, ( See Chapters 7, 10 ), 82–84, 131, 138,

142, 150, 154, 147, 161–164, 166, 195–198, 222–225, 311, 323, 336, 351, 356–359, 388

Collateral Damage , 28, 238, 375 Color Purple, The , 299, 375 combat fi lms, 33, 79, 129 , 185, 225, 238, 264 Combs, James, 8, 11, 13–15, 23 , 24, 57, 60, 80–82,

89 , 271, 289 Combs, Sara, 11, 80–82, 89 , 271, 289 Coming Home, 186–190, 325, 375 community (communal), 62, 111–113, 112, 305 ,

306 communism (communist), ( See Chapters 3 and 7 ),

63–66, 113, 138, 140–146, 150, 204–207, 205, 356–359, 358

Company Men, The , 252–253 comrade (See also Tender Comrade), 206, 243 Confessions of a Nazi Spy , 123, 375 conformity, ( See Chapter 7 ), 166, 203, 233 conglomerates (media), 29, 49–52, 59 , 84–86 Congress, 17, 64, 73, 76, 109–110, 204, 231,

277–279, 278 Congressional fi lms of the 1990s, 231 Congressman, 9 Conservative (conservatives), 5, 21, 27–30, 36,

55, 62, 64–65, 70–71, 74–77, 79, 84, 86, 102, 106, 116–117, 138, 140, 145–147, 149, 163, 170–171, 174, 198, 201–202, 204, 210, 213, 221–222, 227, 230, 232, 234, 245, 248, 255, 257, 262, 285, 287, 288, 325–328, 336, 338–340, 345, 346, 362, 368

Conspiracy Theory , 34, 375 conspiracy, 43, 228, 231, conspirators, 43 Constitutional Amendments, First, 67, 75, 124,

232, Equal Rights, 201, 325, Thirteenth, 255, 256, Nineteenth, 318, Colorado Amendment Two, 86

Contagion , 42, 53, 349, 352, 364, 368, 387 Contraband , 102 Contender, The, 325 , 333–336, 345, 375 Cooper, Bradley, 57 Cooper, Chris, 200, 222 Cooper, Gary, 115, 139 , 140, 142–143, 322 Cooper, Merian C., 352, 382 Core, The , 347, 349, 369 , 376 Country , 55, 199–201, 376 Coogler, Ryan, 378 Cooper, Gary, 115, 139 , 140, 142, 322, 372 Coppola, Francis Ford, 170, 187, 242, 372, 376,

379, 385 corporate power, 183, 188–192, 336, 363 corporate raiding, 201 corporate citizenship, 75–76, 279, 289 , 363–364,

363 corporate ownership (fi lms), 85–86 Corporation, The , 279–280 corporations, 184, 279–281, 363, 363 Cosmopolis , 20 Costa-Gavras, 30, 56, 60, 167, 171, 210, 211, 295,

373, 384, 388, 391 Costner, Kevin, 32, 83, 228, 376 counterculture, ( See Chapter 8 ), 208, 334, 360 coup, 161–162, 166, 203, 210–211 courtroom scenes, 31, 140, 232, 273, 299 covert spectacle, 252–253 cowboy, 6, 20, 32, 46, 48, 163, 258, 258, 350,

351 Crawford, Broderick, 135, 145 Crawford, Joan, 33, 55, 69, 319–320, 324 Creature from the Black Lagoon , 15, 148, 324, 376 Crimson Tide , 46, 222–223, 376 Crisis , 376 Crisis, AIDS, 5, 259 crisis, energy, 354 crisis, Iran hostage, 170, 253 crises, 364 Crossfi re , 132–133, 376 Crowd, The, 30, 103 Crucible, The , 12–13 Cruise, Tom, 44, 82, 193 , 198, 224, 244, 366 , 366 crusade, anti-communist, 140–142 crusade (and George W. Bush), 257–258 crusade (crusading), 43, 67, 115, 122, 130, 259 Cruz, Ted, 78, 89 , 365 Cuba, 125, 161, 170, 196, 254–255 Cuban missile crisis, 83, 154, 196 Cukor, George, 145–146, 374 Curtiz, Michael, 127–128, 374, 384, 387 cynicism, social, 106–109 cynicism, political, ( See Chapter 9 ), 122, 135, 184 ,

204, 209, 221, 328

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INDEX

397

Dallas Buyers Club , 258–260, 258, 259 Damon, Matt, 62–63, 74, 247–248, 262, 282, 308,

367 , 367–368, 369 , 386 Dances with Wolves, 32, 318, 376 Daniel , 207–209, 215 Daniels, Lee, 35, 304, 306, 309, 312 , 382, 386 Dargis, Manohla, 50, 59 , 263 , 367, 369 Dark City , 233, 234, 376 Dark Horse, The , 7, 376 Dark Knight, The , 73, 376 Dark Knight Rises, The , 73, 344, 364, 376 Darwin, Charles (Darwinian), 156, 344, 360 Dash, Julie, 302–303 Daughters of the Dust , 302 , 302–303 Dave, 34, 226–227, 376 Day After Tomorrow, The , 53, 261, 364, 376 Death of a President , 256–257 debt ceiling debate, 62, 251 debt, national, 253, 287 Debt, The , 376 Deer Hunter, The , 34, 56, 186–187, 191, 209, 214,

241, 376 Defi ant Ones, The , 145, 156, 165, 293, 376 Deliverance , 332, 376 democracy, 65, 70, 111, 116, 117, 123–124, 128,

146–147, 178, 197, 232, 263, 289 , 351, 355–356, 358, 365

democratic, 8, 21, 64, 72–77, 80, 113, 134, 154, 166, 170, 194, 203, 226, 227, 231, 276, 279, 289, 334–335, 338, 341

detention, 55, 349 Devil’s Daughter, The , 317, 376 DiCaprio, Leonardo, 62–63, 260, 264 Dick , 7, 23 , 44, 229, 376 dictator (dictatorship), 71, 78, 110, 111, 116, 211,

240, 254, 270 Diesel, Vin, 351–352 digital cinematic technology, 44, 86–87, 91 , 364 Dirty Harry , 17, 49, 55, 75, 78, 171, 218, 230, 377 disaster, ( See Chapter 16 ), 283–285 disaster fi lms of the 1970s, 359–363 disaster fi lms of the 1990s, 363 disaster fi lms of the 2000s–2010s, 364–368 Disclosure , 327–328, 377 disillusionment, 103, 109, 170, 182–185, 188,

204–207, 212, 213, 220 , 240, 243, 286, 322 Disney, 29, 49, 51, 65, 84–86, 123, 273–274 Distinguished Gentleman, The , 231, 377 Dixon, Thomas, Jr., 98 Dixon, Winston Wheeler, 86, 91 , 241, 263 Django Unchained , 32–33, 38–39, 298, 311, 377 Dmytryk, Edward, 373, 376, 380, 389 Do The Right Thing , 34, 296–299, 377 documentaries, ( See Chapter 13 ), 12, 76 , 269, 288

Doherty, Thomas, 124 Double Indemnity , 322–324, 377 Douglas, Melvin, 171, 174, 191, 320 Douglas, Michael, 13, 42, 52, 179, 201, 202, 226–

227, 326–328, 359, Dr. Strangelove (or: How I Learned to Stop

Worrying and Love the Bomb), 153 , 160–163, 219, 347, 377

Dr. Zhivago , 163, 377 Dracula , 107, 352 Dragnet , 274 Dredd , 344, 364 D’Souza, Dinesh, 287–288, 390 Dunaway, Faye, 165, 184 Dunham, Lena, 74 Dystopian, ( See Chapter 16 ), 12, 261, 345, 362,

364, 367, 369

Earthquake , 359, 362 Eastwood, Clint, 17, 28, 75, 78, 171, 198, 215,

218, 230, 372, 375, 378, 380, 381, 382, 384 Easy Rider , 155, 166–167, 170, 377 Ebert, Roger, 10, 58, 232, 263, 282, 301, 303, 360 Ejiofor, Chiwetel, 309–311, 310 Elba, Idris, 49, 309 Election , 7, 87, 232–233, 377 elections, viii, 6, 11, 20–21, 24, 28–30, 42, 48, 55,

58 , 62, 72–81, 89 , 112, 125–126, 130–133, 148, 149, 154, 164, 170–174, 178, 182, 183, 185, 194–195, 200 218–222, 226, 229, 233, 238, 248–249, 273–275, 280, 288 , 287–289, 307, 333, 337, 340, 363–364

El Norte , 209–210, 377 Eisenhower, Dwight D., ( See Chapter 7 ), 138, 150,

286, 306 El Salvador, 194, 209–215 Elysium , 50, 308, 311, 344, 349, 364, 366– 369 ,

367 , 377 Enemy of the State , 34, 301, 377 Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room , 279–280,

377 Equalizer, The , 46 Erickson, Hal, 271, 289 Erin Brockovich, 5, 12, 48, 377 Ethnicity, 49, 69, 90 , 97, 106–107, 134, 253, 254,

262, 351–352 evildoers, 257 evolution, 156–157, 157 Executive Decision , 223, 377 Executive Suite, 323–324, 377 externalities (corporate), 279–281 extraordinary rendition, 55 Extraordinary Rendition , 244 Extremities , 330–332, 377

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INDEX

398

Face In The Crowd, A , 12, 149, 150 , 156, 377 Fahrenheit 9/11 , vii, viii, 20–21, 29, 87–88, 262,

269 , 273–275, 285, 287, 288, 289 , 377 Fail Safe , 162–163, 185, 207, 378 Fair Game , 248 Faludi, Susan, 24 , 326 Far From Heaven, 37, 378 farmers, 198–201 Farmer’s Daughter, The , 321, 378 fascism, 111, 254, 308 , 308–309, 351 Fatal Attraction , 325–328, 330, 341 , 378 FBI (Federal Bureau of Investigation), 16, 65, 123,

141, 144, 187, 197, 208, 239, 295, 381 FDA (Federal Drug Administration), 258–259 FEC (Federal Election Commission), 75–76 feminism, ( See Chapter 15 ), 13, 109, 144, 175,

201, 207, 263 femme fatale, 318, 325–328 Ferguson, Charles, 286, 288, 381 Ferguson, Miriam “Ma,” 317 Field, Sally, 48, 190 , 199, 231 First Blood , 195 –197 First Blood II , 241, 263 First Monday in October , 202 F.I.S.T., 189, 195, 377 Five Came Back , 349–352 Fog of War, The , 275 Fonda, Henry, 79, 117–119, 123, 148, 158–162 Fonda, Jane, 21, 28, 43, 167, 178–180, 182, 187,

191–192, 192 , 213, 306, 328 Fonda, Peter, 166 Fonda, Jane, 21, 28, 43, 167, 178–180, 182, 187,

191–192, 192 , 213, 306, 328 Fool There Was, A , 46, 317, 322, 327, 378 Ford, Harrison, 46, 218 , 222, 228, 230, 235 , 238,

330, 351 Ford, Gerald, ( See Chapter 9 ), 170, 178, 182 Ford, John, 6, 36, 82, 117–119, 148, 165, 350, 373,

375, 379, 381, 382, 391 Formalism, 36–43 Forman, Milos, 208, 232, 295, 380, 385, 386 Forrest Gump, 218, 224–225, 378 Fox Network, 275, 276 42 , 309 48 Hrs, 298, 378 Fountainhead, The , 140–141 fracking, 21, 260, 262, 284–285 FrackNation , 284–285, 290 Frailty , 257–258 Frankenheimer, John, 29, 58 , 155, 161, 383, 387 Frankenstein , 69, 71, 107, 340 Front, The , 181–182, 372 Frost, David, 255 Frost/Nixon , 6–7, 18–19, 255, 378

Fruitvale Station , 307–309, 308 , 378 Fury , 112, 114, 378

Game Change , 28, 51, 306, 337–341, 338, 378 Gabriel Over The White House , 69, 110–111, 114,

119 , 378 Gadson, Col. Gregory D., 16 gangster fi lms, 12, 106–109 Gangster Squad , 73, 379 Gandhi , 54, 272, 378 Gasland ( Gasland II ), 53, 277, 284–285, 379 gender, ( See Chapter 15 ), viii, 8, 15–17, 24 , 38, 81,

330, 339, 345 genre, vii, ix, 5–7, 11–13, 17, 22 , 23 , 32–34, 46,

147–148, 241, 283, 303, 349, 355, 359, 367, 369

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes , 324, 379 Gentlemen’s Agreement, 12, 132–133, 379 Ghosts of Abu Ghraib, The , 286, 379 Gianos, Phillip, 4, 14, 22 , 23 , 28, 31, 33, 34, 49,

52, 57 , 58, 59 Gibson, Mel, 199, 262, 372, 385 Gingrich, Newt, 76 , 79, 89 Gish, Lillian, 95 , 99 Glory , 46, 296–297, 379 Godfather, The , 7, 12, 39, 176, 184, 187, 379 Goldman, William, 36, 58 , 178, 192 , 230, 372 Goldwyn, Samuel, 7, 129, 132 Good Night and Good Luck, 12, 30, 52, 61, 66, 87,

318, 322, 379 Gone With The Wind , 12, 48, 114–115, 206, 292,

300, 349, 379 Gordon-Levitt, Joseph, 246 Gore, Al, 62, 73 Gorgeous Hussy, The , 12, 320–321 Grace Is Gone , 244 Graduate, The , 155, 165, 229, 379 Grant, Oscar, 307–309 Grapes of Wrath, The , 117–119, 125, 145, 165,

189, 379 Grassroots , 379 grassroots organizing, 190 Great Dictator, The , 124 The Great McGinty , 130 Greed , 103, 379 Green Berets, The , 82, 164, 185, 241, 379 Green Zone, The , 6, 240, 247–248, 286, 379 Griffi th, D.W., 11, 30, 67, 68, 96, 97–102, 292–

293, 316, 372, 373, 381, 385, 391 guerrilla warfare, 78, 146, 164, 209–210, 280 Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner , 34, 156, 165, 294,

380 Gunner Palace , 285 Guthrie, Woody, 189

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399

Hackman, Gene, 211, 223, 230, 295, 344 Hair , 208, 380 Hallelujah , 293 Hand That Rocks The Cradle, The , 326, 388 Hanks, Tom, 5, 8, 9 , 23 , 28, 46, 47, 74, 224–225,

382 Hays, William H., (Hays Offi ce, Hays Code),

68–72, 88 , 102, 104, 110, 113–114, 319 Harlan County USA, 270, 380 Harriet Craig , 323–324, 380 Hartman, Phil, 362, 363 Head of State , 301, 380 Hearst, William Randolph, 110, 125 Heartbreak Ridge , 198, 380 Hearts and Minds , 263 , 270–271, 289 , 380 Heaven’s Gate , 191, 380 Heath, Stephen, 341 Hellman, Lillian, 23 , 65, 127–129, 147, 180–182,

385 Hepburn, Katharine, 134, 159, 202, 294 Her Honor The Governor , 317, 380 Heston, Charlton 75, 273, 359–364, 361 , 363,

366–367 High Noon , 66, 139, 142–143, 156, 380 Hill, Anita, 300, 327–328 Hillary: The Movie , 76, 380 Hinson, Hal, 213, 234 , 296 Hitchcock, Alfred, 40–41, 70, 88 , 345, 347, 355–

356, 369 , 383 Hitler, Adolf, 59 , 83, 124–128, 136 , 380 Hitler’s Children , 127 Hitler Gang, The , 127 Hitler’s Madman , 127 Hobby Lobby ( Burwell v. Hobby Lobby Supreme

Court decision), 265, 279, 364 Hoffman, Dustin, 177, 217, 219 , 329 Holden, Stephen, 31, 58 , 263 , 300, 312 Hollywood, ( See Chapter 6 ), 23 , 29, 36, 47, 58–59 ,

63–69, 74–78, 80, 84–85, 88–91 , 106, 114, 121–136, 139, 140–144, 145, 151 , 161, 164, 167 , 170, 171, 180, 185–188, 189, 192 , 205 , 206, 217 , 218, 229, 234, 238, 247, 253, 254, 262–263, 264 , 270, 292, 293–294, 296, 299, 301, 309, 310, 334, 355, 356, 368 , 368, 380

Hollywood studios, 21, 47, 49–51, 69, 71, 85, 87, 90 , 103, 124, 138, 166, 167, 170, 189, 218

Hollywood on Trial , 270, 380 holocaust, 163 Home of the Brave (1949), 133, 156, 293 Home of the Brave (2004), 242, 245 HUAC ( See Chapters 3, 7 ), 63–66, 74, 117, 123–

124, 138–146, 180–182, 270 Hughes Brothers (Allen and Albert), 35, 297, 384 Hughes, Howard, 131, 140

Human Stain, The , 298–299, 380 Hunger Games, The , 344, 345, 380 Hunt for Red October, The , 222, 380 Hurricane Katrina, 283–284, 364 Hurt Locker, The , 12, 25 –26, 30, 34, 36, 84, 245–

249, 263, 264 , 381 Hussein, Saddam, 218, 219, 240–241, 248, 252,

285, 287, 339 Huston, John, 82, 381, 382 hydraulic fracturing (see also “fracking”), 285

I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang , 108, 381 I Married a Communist, 65, 381 I Was a Communist for the FBI, 65, 381 Iconoclast, The , 96, 97 iconography, vii, 7, 32, 81, 345, 360 idealistic, 125, 211 ideology (ideological), 5–6, 22, 23 , 33, 36, 45, 167 ,

168, 202, 220, 241, 328 Illicit , 69 Illusions , 302 Imitation of Life , 145 , 293, 381 immigration, 97, 119, 125, 209, 213, 261, 316 In The Heat of the Night , 293–294, 381 In The Line of Fire , 230, 381 In The Valley of Elah , 243–244, 381 Inarritu, Alejandro Gonzalez, 239 Independence Day , 12, 13, 19, 34, 62, 227–228,

381 independents, 21, 28–29, 51–52, 71, 85–88, 91 ,

139, 154–155, 166, 170, 178, 189, 194, 200, 210, 215, 218, 221, 232, 234, 257, 274, 285, 292–296, 303, 304, 332

Indians (American), 32, 62–63, 102, 109, 145, 164–165, 350

Indiewood, 29 Individualism, 19, 30, 114, 138, 196, 206, 233,

309, 346, 360, 368 Individualized (fi lms), 43, 51 Inglourious Basterds , 393 Inherit the Wind, 156, 157 , 381 Inside Job , 277, 281, 282, 283, 286, 290 , 381 Insider, The , 19, 232, 381 international, vii, 8, 46, 49–51, 85, 127, 130, 138,

144, 161, 194, 197, 205, 209, 215, 218, 221, 223, 225, 233–234, 239, 247, 264 , 310–31, 369

internationalism, 122–125 Internet, 4, 28, 52, 53, 85, 87, 243 Interrogation (and interrogation techniques), 55,

249, 254, 286 interrotron, 275 interventionism, 122–123, 142, 154, 161, 194, 209 intervention, by courts, 364 intervention, fi lmic, 228

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400

Intolerance , 30, 68, 101, 381 Intruder in the Dust , 133, 293, 381 Invaders from Mars , 357 Invasion of the Body Snatchers , 7, 12, 15, 139,

148, 381 Invasion, The , 368 Invasion U.S.A., 54, 196–197, 357, 381 invasion (military), 8, 242, 357 Invisible War, The , 277–279, 277 – 278 , 289 Iraq (Iraqis, Iraq War), 6, 15, 16 , 26, 30, 34, 55,

62, 78, 88, 194, 219, 225, 238–248, 246 , 250, 252, 254, 256, 257, 263 , 264 , 274, 275, 280, 285–287, 290 , 335–338, 349 , 349, 365, 366

Iraq For Sale: The War Profi teers, 285 Iraq in Fragments , 285 Iran, 8, 170, 194, 209, 230, 244, 253–254, 287 Iron Curtain , 140, 381 Iron Eagle , 198, 203, 381 Iron Lady , 12, 50, 336–339, 337 , 341 , 381 Iron Man , 31, 49, 83, 367 Islam (Islamic), 223–224, 239, 241, 287 isolationism, 70, 103, 122, 124, 127, 128, 209 isolationists, 130 isolation (social), 345–346 I Spit On Your Grave , 332, 381 It , 318

Jackson, Andrew, 320–321 Jackson, Jesse, 301 Jackson, Samuel, 74, 242, 298, 303 JFK , 4, 228–229, 235 , 256, 382 Joe , 167, 189, 382 Johnny Got His Gun , 167, 382 Johnson, Dwayne, 242 journalist (reporter), 11, 43, 115, 164, 179, 204,

205 , 211, 212, 242, 253–254, 359 Juarez , 123, 209, 382 Judgment at Nuremburg , 156, 382 Julia , 182 just war, 242 justice, 6, 31

Kael, Pauline 163, 167, 212 Kellner, Douglas, 4, 22 , 359, 368, 368 Kennedy, John F., ( See Chapter 8 ), 41, 56, 71, 83,

84, 117, 150, 154, 159, 161, 171, 176, 226, 228, 230, 306, 339

Kennedy, Robert F., 41, 166, 254 Kill a Mockingbird, To , 293, 389 Killing Fields, The , 29, 214, 382 King Kong , 69, 319, 352–354, 358, 382 King, Jr., Martin Luther, 159, 166 Kingdom, The , 35, 58 , 382 Kiss of the Spiderwoman , 212, 392

Kisses for My President , 160 Klute , 48 Kohner, Susan, 145 Korean War, 17, 138, 161, 183 Kramer, Stanley, 139, 142, 154–157, 165, 294,

376, 380, 381, 385, 388 Kramer vs. Kramer , 325, 382 Ku Klux Klan, 100, 114, 117, 293

labor unions, 65, 75, 76, 96–97, 102, 106, 113, 118–119, 123, 140, 143–144, 173, 188–192, 198–200, 260, 270, 280, 336, 363

Lara Croft Tomb Raider, 73, 382 Last Hurrah, The , 138 , 148–150, 156, 382 Last Samurai, The , 32, 382 Latina, 307 Latino , 212, 382 Latino, 80, 145, 200, 211–212, 382 Lee, Spike, 34–35, 37, 46, 74, 283, 296–299, 311 Lemmons, Kasi, 303–306, 311 Lenin, Vladimir (Leninist), 64, 88 Lethal Weapon , 298, 382 Letty Lynton , 55 Lewinsky, Monica, 231, 335 Lewis, Daniel Day, 48, 79, 256 liberal, 5, 21, 36–37, 117, 138, 141, 145, 148, 159,

163, 202, 220 liberators, 287 libertarian, 10, 346 Library of Congress, 6, 10, 11, 23 , 177, 293, 302,

341 , 344, 369 Lieberman, Joe, 72 Lifeboat , 355–356, 369 , 383 Lincoln , 5, 7, 12, 17, 28, 30, 44, 54, 87, 255, 256,

260, 383 Lincoln, Abraham, 17, 18, 79, 98, 101, 102, 109–

111, 121, 130, 255, 256 Lincoln Memorial, 115–116, 141 Linney, Laura, 62 Lions for Lambs, 244–245, 286, 383 Littlefeather, Sacheen, 62– 63 Loeb, David, 51–52 Lonestar , 221, 383 Lone Survivor , 250, 264 Long, Walter, 99 L.A. Rebellion, 302–304 lynching, 112, 114, 133, 293 Lynch, Jessica, 252 Lyne, Adrian, 315, 366

MacMurray, Fred, 160, 322, 324 mafi a, 159, 176 Maid in Manhattan , 30 Malcolm X , 5, 46, 299, 383

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401

Malcolm X, 296–297 Manchurian Candidate, The , 29, 154– 155 , 161,

301, 335–336, 383 Mandela, Nelson, 49, 309 Manhattan Project, The , 202, 383 Mann Act, 354 Marine Corps, 83, 250 Mars Attacks! , 44, 227, 383 Marsh, Mae, 95 , 99 Marx Brothers, 107, 113 Marx, Karl (Marxist), 88 , 146, 210, 249 Masculinity, 6, 47, 75, 258, 315, 323, 324, 326,

367 M*A*S*H , 167, 183, 238, 383 Mass media, 4, 14, 20, 24 , 53, 78, 85, Matewan, 200–201, 295, 383 Matrix, The , 233–234, 235 , 383 Matrix Reloaded, The , 233, 235 , 383 Matrix Revolutions, The , 233, 383 matriarchy, 358 McCabe and Mrs. Miller , 183 McCain, John, 20, 24 , 74, 241, 249, 264 , 281, 286,

337–341 McCarey, Leo, 140–141, 377, 384, 386 McCarthy, Cormac, 347, 387 McCarthy, Joseph, 63–66, 138, 142, 161, 197 McCarthy, Kevin, 251 McCarthyism, 63–66, 138, 144, 146, 154, 156, 270 McConaughey, Matthew, 258 –260, 259 McNamara, Robert, 275 mediated politics, 14–15, 23 , 63, 335, Medium Cool , 166–167, 170, 212, 383 Medved, Michael, 58 Meet John Doe , 12, 322, 359 Mellen, Joan, 138, 150 , 167 Men in Black, 234, 383 Metropolis , 234 MIAs, 196–197 Michael Clayton , 10, 52, 384 Micheaux, Oscar, 102 , 114, 292–293, 323 Mildred Pierce , 323, 329, 384 military, 29, 41, 46, 50, 81–84, 122, 123, 127, 142,

147, 148, 154, 162, 163, 167, 183, 187, 194, 197, 203, 210, 222, 223, 225, 227, 228, 239, 240–242, 247–253, 262, 271, 277–279, 285–287, 289 , 325, 344, 347, 352, 357, 360–363, 365

Milk , 30, 255, 262, 384 minority, ( See Chapter 14 ) minstrel, 299 miscegenation, 69, 147, 292, 353 Missing , 29, 30, 37, 56, 210–215, 384 Missing in Action , 196–197, 384 Mission to Moscow , 65, 128–130, 136 , 176, 384

Mississippi Burning , 295–296, 384 Mo’Nique, 304 montage, 97, 111, 115, 116, 174, 203, 245 montage editing, 39–40 Moore, Juanita, 145 Moore, Julianne, 337, 338 –341 Moore, Michael, 62, 67, 239, 269 , 270, 271, 276,

281, 285, 374, 377, 387, 388 Mothra , 346 Mount Rushmore, 70, 88 moviegoing, 52–54, 139 MPAA, 65, 70–72, 88 MPPDA, 67–70, 88 , 110, 113 Mr. Mom , 329–330, 384 Mr. Smith Goes To Washington , 12, 14, 15, 34, 43,

49, 104, 115–117, 126, 134, 135, 154, 158–160, 174, 178, 180, 203, 231, 345, 349, 384

Mrs. Miniver, 123, 127, 396 Ms. 45 , 331–333, 372 Murder at 1600 , 230, 384 music, 36–39, 54–55, 58 , 96, 143, 162, 173, 176–

177, 183, 214, 245, 271, 308 Music Box , 30, 384 musicals (genre), 6, 107–109, 112, 114, 119 , 131,

208, 209, 293, 304, 319, 324 Muslim, 219, 223, 234 My Fellow Americans , 227, 384 My Son John , 141–142, 384

Nair, Mira, 239 Nama, Adilifu, 16–17 Nanook of the North, 270, 384 Nashville , 37–38, 58 , 183–185, 384 National Film Registry, 293, 302 National Legion of Decency, 69 National Rifl e Association (NRA), 73, 272, 273 Natural Born Killers , 12, 30, 43, 59 , 221, 234 , 384 Navy Seals , 223, 384 Navy SEALs, 41 , 250 Nazi, 33, 40, 64, 83, 117, 123–124, 127–129, 140,

163, 182, 225, 241, 355–356, 375 Neale, Steve, 6, 23 negro, 292, 293, 355, 369 Network , 12, 184 , 191, 204, 384 New Deal, 64, 106–109, 113, 118–119 Nichols, Mike, 155, 165, 167, 198, 229, 375, 379,

386, 388, 391 Nichols, James, 272 Nicholson, Jack, 29, 44, 209 Nickelodeons, 67, 316 Nimmo, Dan, 13–15, 23, 24 Nine Eleven (9/11), ( See Chapter 12 ), 28, 38, 73,

83, 286, 335, 339, 354, 364, 365 Nine to Five , 191, 328, 385

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402

Nixon , 6–7, 44, 229, 235 , 256, 385 Nixon, Richard, 64, 149, 159, 166, 170, 176–177,

182–183, 226, 228–229, 235 , 255, 270, 286, 306, 334, 362

Noah , 263 Non-Stop , 240 Norma Rae , 12, 48, 189– 190 , 198–201, 325, 385 Northup, Solomon, 309–310 nostalgia, 204, 206, 208, 363, 366, Notorious , 40 , 70 nuclear (power, weapons), 43, 54–56, 62, 138, 154,

156, 161–163, 165, 167, 178–180, 198, 203, 207, 223, 238, 248, 271, 283, 324, 329, 356, 358, 360, 364, 368

nuclear age, 15, 324, 356–359 Nyong’o, Lupita, 310 , 311

Obama, Barack, vii, viii, 20–21, 29, 62, 74–75, 77–78, 80, 84, 87, 89 , 240, 248–249, 252, 254, 260, 281, 283, 287–289, 288 , 290 , 305, 306–307, 338–339, 352, 364, 365, 369

Obama Effect, The , 385 Oblivion , 344, 360, 365– 366 , 385 O’Connor, Sandra Day, 202, 364 Occupy Wall Street, 254 Olympus Has Fallen , 44, 344, 365, 385 Omega Man, The , 359– 361, 362 On the Beach, 156, 163, 385 On the Waterfront , 143, 149, 189, 385 Osama bin Laden, 20, 38, 41, 73, 84, 220, 248–

249, 258, 264, 366 Outfoxed: Rupert Murdoch’s War on Journalism ,

276, 385

PACs (Political Action Committees), 75–76, 231 Palin, Sarah, 55, 62, 337–341; 338 Parallax View , The , 43, 176–178, 184, 301, 359,

385 paranoia, ( See Chapter 9 ), 81, 207, 301–302, 336,

358 Participant Media, 260–261 partisan, 8, 218, 251, 276, 365 Passion of the Christ, The , 21, 262, 385 patriarchy (patriarchal), ( See Chapter 15 ), 6, 258,

333, 345, 358, 361 patriot (patriotic, patriotism), ( See Chapter 10 ), 29,

38, 40, 46, 49, 65, 70, 115, 122, 127, 128, 141, 158, 164, 173, 193–198, 203, 204, 213–215, 222–223, 225, 235 , 240, 247, 250, 275, 322, 334, 338, 341, 351

Patriot Act, 251–252 Patriot Games , 222–223, 235 , 385 Patton , 167, 385 Paul, Rand, 346, 365

Paul, Ron, 346 Paulist Pictures, 213 Paulson, Sarah, 310, 338 , 339 PCA (Production Code Administration), 70, 122,

126, 138, 147 Pearce, Richard, 200, 376 Peck, Gregory, 132, 156, 213, 293 Peirce, Kimberly, 245–246, 263, 388 Pentagon, the U.S., 82–84, 90 , 167, 238, 248, 359,

366 , pharmaceutical industry (“big pharma”), 8, 34,

258 –259 Phantom President, The, 109 Philadelphia , 5, 46 Phillippe, Ryan, 245, 246 Photoplay, 110, 119 , 317 Pinky , 133, 293, 385 Places in the Heart , 199, 201, 385 Planet of the Apes , 167, 360–361, 367, 386, 387 Plan of Attack , 257 Platoon , 30, 36, 82, 213–215, 224–225, 386 Point of Order , 270, 27 Poitier, Sidney, 34, 56, 145, 165, 294–295 Political Action Committees (Hollywood), 76 political fantasy, 15, 32, 305, 365 political images, 6, 12, 18, 20, 48, 62, 70, 74,

78–79, 82, 101, 104, 161, 222, 238, 239, 252, 316, 341, 349, 354, 365

political theory and fi lms, 9–10 political socialization, 17–19, 53–55 politician(s), 11, 17–20, 22 , 31, 34, 43, 48–49,

54–55, 57 , 65, 67, 69, 73, 77–81, 88, 97–99, 101–103, 109, 111, 114–117, 130–135, 138, 149, 157, 159, 162–163, 172 –178, 183–184, 191, 196, 203–204, 214, 220, 245, 253, 274, 281, 286, 324–325, 328, 335, 337, 346, 359, 363, 365

Politician , The , 97 Pollack, Sidney, 180, 372, 381, 389, 391 Polonsky, Abraham, 131, 155, 165, 389 populism (populist), 43, 101, 114–117, 123, 125,

134–135, 143, 149, 183, 184, 220, 322, 340 Poseidon Adventure, The , 344–345, 359 Possessed , 319–320, 323, 386 postapocalyptic, ( See Chapter 16 ) poverty, 68, 96, 154, 172, 207, 283, 290 , 296 Powell, Colin, 242, 248, 252 Precious , 16, 304–306, 305 , 312 , 386 prejudice, ( See Chapter 14 ) 132–133, 186, 202,

292, 296, 305, 307 Preminger, Otto, 146, 157–158, 372, 377, 382, 383 Presidency (American), 154, 226, 229, 352, 359 President Vanishes, The, 110–111 Presidential candidacy, 75, 80, 229, 281, 337–340

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403

Presidential characters, 18, 80, 109, 159–160, 224, 226–229, 337–340

Presidential election, 28 Presidential image, 20, 154, 159, 228, 255, 256–

258, Pride of the Marines , 132 Primary Colors , 218, 229, 335, 386 Production Code, The, 67–72, 88–89 , 114, 117,

122, 131, 138, 140, 146–147, 155, 160, 292, 315, 319, 321

profi t motive, 28, 30 progressive, 66, 70, 88 , 96–97, 125, 135, 140, 214,

263, 321 Promised Land , 21, 56, 260, 262, 285, 386 propaganda, 12, 22, 23 , 29, 56, 62, 64, 65, 81–84,

88, 89–90 , 107, 117–119, 123–124, l28–130, 129 , 133, 144–145, 205, 228, 238, 241, 243, 250, 264, 271, 272, 274, 286, 289, 322, 333, 356, 357

prosthetics, 15–16, 131–132, 242, 366–367 prostitutes (prostitution), 48, 69, 147, 183, 282,

315, 330, 350, 353 Psycho , 324 Public Enemy , 319, 386 Pulp Fiction , 86, 298, 386 pure political fi lms, 11–12, 157–160, 253–254,

320–321347

Quart, Leonard, 24 , 132, 136 Quayle, Dan, 227, 334 Quiet American, The, 142, 164, 238

race, ( See Chapter 14 ) viii, 15–17, 24 , 69, 145, 156, 329, 291–312, 317, 352, 353–354, 362

radiation, 147–148, 271, 358–359, 367 Ragtime , 295, 386 Rains, Claude, 114, 123 Rambo , 34, 54, 55, 195 , 195–197, 204, 212–214,

240–241, 263 , 386 Rand, Ayn, 10, 65, 140–141, 365 rape, 31, 68, 243, 276, 277–279, 289 , 293, 303,

317, 325, 331–333 Reagan , 286 Reagan, Ronald, (See Chapter 10), 20, 46, 48, 55,

56, 65, 78–82, 89 , 145, 170, 178, 184, 218, 222, 230, 251, 257, 282, 305, 306–307, 325, 336, 339, 357, 362–363, 368

realism, 36, 43–44, 103, 157, 200, 225, 227, 245, 348, 355, 369

reality television, 233, 275 rebel (rebels, rebellion), 9 , 113, 165–166, 211, 333,

344, 361 Rebel Without a Cause , 138, 145 recession (economic), 194, 200, 218, 252, 279–283

Recount , 51, 386 Redacted , 243–244 Red Dawn , 34, 54, 196, 386 Redford, Robert, 35, 43, 165, 171–177, 180–181,

200, 201, 244, 253, 375, 383–384 Reds , 29, 204, 205 , 204–209, 215, 387 Reds, political, ( See Chapters 7 and 10 ) Reed, John, 204–205 Reefer Madness , 271, 274, 387 regulations (of fi lm industry), 64–73 Reiner, Rob, 335, 372, 379, 386 religion (religious), 29, 64, 67–69, 71, 141, 180,

239, 255, 257–258, 262– 265 , 279, 289 , 348, 360–361, 364, 369

Religulous , 262 remediation, 239, 254, 338 rendition, 244 Rendition , 34, 55, 244, 387 Renner, Jeremy, 246, 251 Republican(s), 8, 15, 21, 30, 34, 62, 68, 74–75,

77–79, 89, 109–110, 113, 123, 129–130, 134, 163, 178, 194, 202, 218, 226, 227, 229, 242, 244, 248–249, 251–252, 274, 279, 289, 325, 334, 337–339, 338 , 362–365

Resident Evil , 73 Restrepo , 286, 387 Return of the Secaucus Seven , 208, 234, 387 revenge, 171, 183, 286, 295, 304, 319, 327, 328,

332 revenge fantasy, 33, 215, 331 revenge of the Blacklist, 180–182 revisionist (revisionism), 33 , 39, 165, 191, 195 ,

240–241, 253, 298, 314 revolution, 56, 64, 88 , 96, 101, 102, 111, 113,

139, 142, 144, 146, 163, 166, 170, 182, 194, 204–209, 211–213, 233, 254, 294, 306

Rice, Condoleeza, 336 Riddick , 351–352, 375 Right Stuff, The , 202, 203, 387 Risky Business , 44, 48 Ritt, Martin, 43, 155, 189, 378, 379, 385, 388 River, The , 55, 199–201, 391 Road, The , 347 –349, 387 Road to Perdition, The , 47 Roberts, Julia, 9 , 28, 47–48 Robertson, Cliff, 154, 159, 176 Robinson, Jackie, 309 Robocop , 366–367 Rocky , 171, 178, 194–195, 197, 387 Roger & Me , 271–272, 387 Rogers, Ginger, 65, 107, 128, 145 Rogin, Michael, 79–80, 89 , 252, 264 Rogue, 187, 248, 253–254, 264 , 338, 351, 352,

359, 365

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404

Romero, Archbishop Oscar, 212–213 Romero , 213, 387 Romney, Mitt, 21, 29, 75, 89, 363, 363 Rooney, Andy, 18, 24 Roosevelt, Franklin D., ( See Chapters 5 and 6 ),

17, 82, 106, 107, 110, 112, 113, 118, 122, 124, 127–131, 135, 157, 282

Roosevelt, Theodore, 65, 81, 109 Ruffalo, Mark, 62, 285 Russell, Jane, 131, 324 Russia House , 222–223, 387 Russian Revolution, 9, 102, 163, 204–206 Russians, 162–164, 223, 387 Russians Are Coming!, The , 163, 387 Ryan, Paul, 55

Saboteur , 70 Salome , 314–315, 387 Salt , 16 Salt of the Earth , 143–144, 189, 387 Salvador , 30, 212–215, 387 Samurai, 32, 382 Sanders, Bernie, 62 Sandler, Adam, 47 Sankofa , 303, 312 Sarandon, Susan, 6, 332 Sarris, Andrew, 174, 192 , 206, 208 satire, 7, 22, 26, 36, 37, 134, 157, 191, 219, 220,

229, 233, 234, 238, 271, 281, 299, 300, 301, 328, 347, 349

Saving Private Ryan , 36, 225, 241, 387 Sayles, John, 35, 200, 208, 221–222, 234 , 295,

374, 375, 383, 384, 387, 389 scandal, 4, 31, 37, 55, 64, 67, 68, 71, 74, 147, 170,

203, 217, 219, 226, 227, 229, 231, 233, 242, 333, 345, 359

Schindler’s List , 225, 387 Schlafl y, Phyllis, 325 Schwarzenegger, Arnold, 28, 47, 48, 78, 80, 81,

89, 238 science fi ction, 6, 13, 15, 16, 24 , 32, 42, 81, 83,

139, 147, 148, 156, 163, 233–234, 351, 356–359, 360, 362

Scorsese, Martin, 35, 44, 183, 260, 264, 372, 376, 378, 389

Scott, A. O., 35, 58 , 263, 264 , 270, 277, 289 , 305, 306, 312

Sea Hawk, The , 123, 127, 387 SEALs, 41, 223, 250, 384 Seduction of Joe Tynan, The , 174–175, 387 Sellers, Peter, 162, 163, 190, 191, Senate, the U.S., 115–116, 124, 131, 158, 159,

173, 174, 177, 249, 264, 300, 327, 334, 335

Senators, U.S., 18, 20, 24 , 30, 62, 71, 75, 76, 78, 84, 98–100, 109, 115–117, 133, 136, 138, 158–159, 171, 172, 174–175, 196, 203, 220, 221, 244, 245, 249, 263, 279, 283, 286, 320, 327, 334, 335, 337, 346, 365, 367

Senator Was Indiscreet, The, 133–134, 387 September 11, 239 Serpico , 207 Seven Days in May , 161–163, 387 Seven Year Itch, The , 324, 388 sexual harassment, 300, 327–328 sexuality, 6, 16, 17, 46–48, 69–72, 74, 101, 113,

140, 147, 158–160, 174, 175, 182, 183, 207, 212, 253, 277–279, 293, 300, 304, 314–318, 322–335, 339–341, 345, 253, 354, 358, 360, 368

Shaft , 294, 297, 388 Shampoo , 183–184, 388 She Devil, The , 317, 388 Sheen, Charlie, 201, 214, 231 Sheen, Martin, 187, 201, 255 Ship of Fools , 156, 388 ship of fools (scenario), 345, 350, 355 Shoedsack, Earnest B., 352 Short Circuit, 203, 388 Sidibe, Gabourey, 305 Siege, The , 46, 223–224, 234 , 388 Silence of the Lambs , The , 16 silent fi lms ( See Chapter 4 ) Silkwood , 12, 55, 179, 198–201, 210, 215, 388 Silkwood, Karen, 179, 198–200 Single White Female , 326, 388 Silverman, Sarah, 74 Silver Linings Playbook, The, 8, 57, 60 , 388 Silver State , 222 Sinatra, Frank, 29, 271 Siren of Hell , 317, 388 Sklar, Robert, 68, 88 Skyfall , 45, 388 slavery, 10, 32, 33, 98, 225, 256, 298, 303, 310 ,

320, 353 Small Circle of Friends, A , 208, 388 Smith, Will, 48, 234, 262, 308, Smith-Mundt Act, 83–84 socialism, 96, 207, 290 socialist, 11, 113, 206 socially refl ective fi lms, 11–14, 97, 131–133, 143,

147, 165, 316–317 sociocultural, 262, socioeconomic, 12, 30, 320, 322, 332, 345, 355 sociopolitical, 29, 256, 300–301, 317, Soderbergh, Steven, 8, 42, 254, 349, 375, 377, 381,

388, 390 Sony Corporation, 49, 51–52, 59 , 84, 85, 249

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INDEX

405

Sorkin, Aaron, 13, 80, 372, 375, 388 Soul Food , 300, 388 Soviet Union, 8–9, 13, 39, 54, 64–66, 88 , 122,

128–129, 138, 154, 160–164, 194–198, 206–209, 222–224, 356

Soylent Green , 359–367 Spacek, Sissy, 199, 210, 228 Spartacus , 139 Spiderman , 43 Spielberg, Steven, 17, 28, 35–36, 44, 51, 59, 74,

170, 224, 225, 241, 255– 256 , 299, 372, 375, 377, 383, 384, 387, 390, 391

Spurlock, Morgan, 276, 389 Sputnik, 138 spy (spies), 37, 40, 70, 82, 122, 123, 127, 141, 145,

161, 181, 207, 230, Stagecoach , 48, 350 Stallone, Sylvester, 171, 177–178, 189, 194–197,

215, 377, 386, 387 Stanwyck, Barbara, 131, 322, 324 Star Chamber, The , 202, 388 star image, 28, 45–48, 59 , 62, 68, 74, 78, 107–108,

117, 225, 321, 324, 351, Star Wars , 12, 78, 79, 170, 192 , 194, 218, 227,

233, 363, 388 State of Play , 253, 388 State of Siege , 210, 388 State of the Union , 79, 134–135, 150, 159–160,

175, 388 Steelyard Blues , 167, 388 Steinbeck, John, 117, 119, 146, 189, 355–356, 369,

383, 390 Stereotype(s) (stereotyping), 16, 33, 46–49, 59, 62,

97, 101, 116, 196, 209, 223, 225, 230, 293296, 298–304, 316, 355, 366

Stewart, James, 115–117, 145, 147 Stone, Oliver, 4, 6, 30, 35, 36, 43, 56, 82, 89,

212, 213, 221, 224, 228, 235, 256, 374, 382, 384–387

Stop-Loss , 12, 245–247, 263 , 286, 388 Storm Center , 144, 388 Storm Warning , 145, 388 Strategic Air Command, 185 Strategic Air Command , 82, 147, 162, 198, 389 Strategic Defense Initiative (“Star Wars”), 79 Streep, Meryl, 29, 48, 50, 59 , 174, 198, 244, 336–

337 , 340, 341 Stroheim, Erich von, 103, 129, 379 structuralists, 55 structured absence, 16–17 Sturges, Preston, 130, 379, 380, 389 subgenre, 283, 301, 358, 367 sublimated politics, 15–17, 22 sublimated fantasy, 238, 365

suburban, 21, 138, 196, 324, 352 subversion (subversive), 64–65, 68, 70, 108, 161,

162, 182, 262, 308, 325, 327, 361, sugarcoating, 34 Sullivan’s Travels , 130, 389 Sum of All Fears , 238–239, 389 Sundance fi lm festival, 51–52, 86, 284, 286 Sunrise, 318, 322, 389 Sunrise at Campobello , 79, 157, 389 Sunshine State , 222, 234 , 389 Superfl y , 294, 389 Super Size Me , 276, 389 Supreme Court, 67, 75–76, 133, 138, 174, 202,

230, 232, 265 , 279, 300, 307, 327, 339, 363–364

Sutherland, Donald, 167, 228 Sutherland, Keifer, 208 Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song , 294, 389 Swimfan , 326, 389 Syriana , 14, 31, 34, 35, 56, 389

Talk to Me , 304 Tarantino, Quentin, 32–33, 38–39, 58, 298, 377,

381, 386 Taxi Driver , 56, 183–185, 389 Tea Party, 62, 365 technology, 15, 28, 44, 53, 59, 86, 87, 147, 163,

203, 204, 217, 301, 352, 360 television, 4, 22 , 28, 44, 47–48, 50–54, 56, 63, 73,

76, 78, 80, 85, 90 , 135, 138–139, 149– 150 , 154, 164, 172–174, 178–180, 184 , 189–191, 207, 215, 221, 233

television and violence, 196 Tell Them Willie Boy Is Here , 165, 389 Tender Comrade , 65, 128, 389 Terminator, The , 15, 48, 80, 81, 83, 389 terror (terrorism) vii, 28, 34, 35, 38, 55, 73, 78, 83,

131, 142, 179, 184, 185, 194, 197, 219, 223, 224, 228, 238–250, 257–258, 263, 264 , 265, 280, 302, 324, 328, 354, 358–359, 364–366

Thatcher, Margaret, 50, 336–337, 341 Them!, 15, 148, 358–359 Thelma and Louise , 6, 41, 300, 330–333, 341, 389 There’s Always Tomorrow , 324, 389 Thin Blue Line, The , 20, 271, 275, 389 Thirteen Days , 83, 389 Three Days of the Condor , 12, 176, 177, 244, 253,

301, 359, 389 Three Kings , 223, 225, 235 , 238, 389 thrillers (legal, political, conspiracy), 10, 12, 13,

14, 34, 44, 161, 180, 182, 253, 301, 355, 359 Tillman, Pat, 252 Titicut Follies , 270, 389 Tootsie , 329–330, 389

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INDEX

406

Top Gun , 82, 193 , 198, 203–204, 213, 214, 389 torture, 20, 24 , 32, 33, 38, 55, 73, 84, 90 , 197,

243–245, 248–250, 256, 262, 264 , 286, 295, 349 , 361

Town, The , 251 –253 Towne, Robert, 183, 375, 386, 388 Toy Story , 46, 220, 270 Tracy, Spencer, 79, 134, 147, 157 , 294 Traffi c , 42, 390 transcoding, 256, 257, 365, 368 Transformers , 31, 83, 261, 366, 390 troops, 78, 98, 134, 143, 187, 194, 214, 228, 241,

243, 244, 247, 250, 251, 286, 296, 297, 359 True Lies , 223, 390 Truman, Harry, ( See Chapter 6 and 7 ), 133–134,

150, 159, 356, Truman Show, The , 233, 390 Trumbo, Dalton, 64, 65, 128, 147, 155, 157, 167,

176, 180, 350, 377, 382, 389 Turning Point, The, 325, 390 Twelve Angry Men , 148, 207, 390 Twelve Years A Slave , 309, 310, 311– 312 2016: Obama’s America , viii, 20, 21, 87, 287, 288 ,

288, 390 Twilight’s Last Gleaming , 185, 390 typology (political fi lm), 7, 10–14, 22, 97, 253,

258, 316

Ugly American, The , 157, 164, 390 Under Fire , 46, 211–213, 390 Under Siege , 223 Union Pacifi c , 114, 390 United 93, 365 United 93 , 83, 239–240, 247, 263 , 390 urban, 21, 46, 67, 80, 103, 104, 111, 138, 149, 154,

171, 182, 297, 305, 316, 327, 352

Valenti, Jack, 71, 88 Vanishing American, The , 102, 390 Verdict, The , 202, 390 veterans, 15, 16 , 17, 107, 122, 132–133, 156, 161,

167, 185, 195 , 224, 225, 240–246, 264 , 278, viacom, 49, 85 Vidal, Gore, 159–160, 373 video games, 57, 73, 233, 351 Vidor, King, 30, 103, 111, 140, 293, 373, 376, 385 Vietnam, ( See Chapters 9 and 10 ), 21, 55, 142,

154, 189, 192 , 200, 209 Vietnam War, ( See Chapters 9 and 10 ), 33, 36, 38,

82, 164, 165, 183, 185–188, 189, 195–197, 200, 213–214, 224–225, 228, 238, 240–245, 249, 254, 270, 275, 293, 303, 325, 335, 337, 346, 359

Viva Villa , 111, 390

Viva Zapata , 143, 145–146, 175, 209, 390 Vixen, The , 317, 390

Wag the Dog , 4, 20, 217 , 218–221, 390 Wahlberg, Mark, 225, 250 Walking Tall , 242 Wall Street, 20, 68, 201, 254, 260, 264 , 281–283,

290 Wall Street , 30, 201, 212, 390 Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps , 20, 390 war, ( See Chapters 6, 9, 10 and 12 ) War Games , 203, 391 Warner Bros., 51, 72, 73, 84, 85, 90 , 108, 122, 123,

126, 127 war-nography, 198, 250 Warren Commission, 176 Warren, Elizabeth, 283 Washington, Denzel, 5, 29, 44, 46, 223, 296, 297,

301, 379 Washington, Denzel, fi lmography, 46 Washington Masquerade, 109, 391 Washing Merry-Go-Round, The, 110, 391 WASP (White Anglo Saxon Protestant), 127, 180,

181 wasp (fi gure, insect), 324, 358, 391 Wasp Woman, The , 324, 358, 391 Watch on the Rhine , 127–128, 391 Way Down East , 316, 391 Way We Were, The , 180–182 Wayans, Damon, 299 Wayne, John, 20, 46, 74, 75, 79, 82, 89, 129, 141,

164, 185, 379 WMD (weapons of mass destruction), 6, 219, 239,

240, 242, 247, 248, 336 welfare, 273, 283, 304 Welles, Orson, 42, 125–127, 132 , 375, 389 West, Mae, 69, 107, 113, 324 Western (genre), 6, 12, 17, 20, 32–33, 39, 48, 66,

75, 81, 102, 139, 142, 164, 218, 258, 298, 333, 345, 350

What Every Woman Knows , 103, 391 When A Woman Sins , 317, 391 Where Are My Children?, 67 whistleblower, 37, 359 Whitaker, Forest, 50, 300, 301, 304, 306, 309, 312 White, Armond, 305 White House Down , 261, 343 –345, 365 whiteness, 16–17, 32, 75, 100, 112, 200, 247, 259,

260, 292, 293, 299, 302–303, 306, 307–309, 316, 351–352, 354, 361, 362

white supremacy, 17, 32, 292 Wilson, Woodrow, 11, 23, 81, 98, 130 Windtalkers , 83, 241, 391 Winfrey, Oprah, 74, 299, 306

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INDEX

407

Wings of Eagles, The , 241 Wings of Eagles, The , 241 Working Girl , 330, 391 Wolf of Wall Street, The , 62, 260, 264 , Wolf, Naomi, 38, 58 , 84, 90 women, ( See Chapter 15 ), 14, 16, 17, 48, 50,

67, 69, 74, 99, 101, 103, 109, 122, 131–132, 143–145, 160, 175, 182, 198–199, 201, 245, 277–279, 280, 300, 304–305, 353–354, 358–359, 361, 363

Woods, James, 212, 365 Woodward, Bob, 31, 55, 176–177, 257 workers, 96–97, 107, 113, 114, 125 140, 143–144,

145, 173, 177–180, 183, 189–190, 198–201, 205, 252–253, 260–261, 270, 280, 283, 318, 322, 341, 362, blue-collar worker, 167, 180,

Civil Rights workers, 295, domestic workers, 145 , 260, fi lm workers, 30, 65–66, 113, migrant workers, 119, social worker, 304, white workers, 119

working women, 321–322, 328–330 World War Z , 364, 368, 391

Young Mr. Lincoln, 117

Zanuck, Darryl F., 117, 118, 130, 140 Zapata, Emiliano, 146 Zero Dark Thirty , viii, 4, 7, 20, 24 , 34, 38, 41, 41 ,

58 , 73, 84, 87, 88, 90 , 237 , 248–249, 264 , 391 Žižek, Slavoj, 246–249, 363 , 264 Zoot Suit , 209, 391 Zwick, Edward, 224, 234 , 296, 374, 379, 382, 388

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Elizabeth Haas , sole author of this second edition, earned her BA from the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, and her PhD from the University of Michigan. A recipient of a Woodrow Wilson Fellowship in the Humanities and published in numerous journals, she teaches fi lm and literature at the University of Bridgeport in Connecticut.

Terry Christensen is a specialist on state and local politics and an emeritus professor at San Jose State University. His many books include a second edition of Local Politics: Governing at the Grassroots , a text refl ecting his years of teaching and participation in local politics. Christensen holds a BA from Stanford and a PhD from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. In 1998 he was named SJSU’s Outstanding Professor. In addition to his schol-arship, teaching, and university service, Christensen has been active in San Jose politics, advising on many political campaigns and serving on numerous boards and commissions.

Peter J. Haas is a professor in the School of Global Innovation and Leadership at San Jose State University and also serves as the education director for the Mineta Transportation Institute there. The author of numerous articles and research monographs and coauthor of the textbook Applied Policy Research: Concepts and Cases , he received a Fulbright Founda-tion Senior Specialist grant in 2003 to teach and study in Latvia. He earned his BA in politi-cal science at Valparaiso University, his MA in political science at Kent State University, and his PhD in political science at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

About the Authors

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Cover
Title
Copyright
Contents
Preface
Acknowledgments
I. Studying Political Films

1. Setting the Scene: A Theory of Film and Politics
2. The Making of a Message: Film Production and Techniques, and Political Messages
3. Causes and Special Effects: The Political Environment of Film

II. Political Films by Decade

4. Politics in the Silent Movies
5. The 1930s: Political Movies and the Great Depression
6. The 1940s: Hollywood Goes to War
7. The 1950s: Anti-Communism and Conformity
8. The 1960s: From Mainstream to Counterculture
9. The 1970s: Cynicism, Paranoia, War, and Anticapitalism
10. The 1980s: New Patriotism, Old Reds, and a Return to Vietnam in the Age of Reagan
11. The 1990s: FX Politics
12. The Twenty-First Century: 9/11 and Beyond

III. Political Films by Topic

13. True Lies? The Rise of Political Documentaries
14. Film and the Politics of Race: The Minority Report
15. Women, Politics, and Film: All About Eve?
16. White House Down? Politics in Disaster

Appendix

Closing Credits: A Political Filmography

Index
About the Authors

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