The pathological environment /

Anita Guerrini

1990

Ecology, epidemics and empires :
environmental change and the geopolitics of tropical America, 1600-1825 /

J R McNeill

Therapeutic landscapes :
medical issues in light of the new cultural geography /

W M Gesler

'Fit localities for an asylum': The historical geography of the 19th-century 'mad-business' in England as viewed through the pages of the "Asylum Journal" /

Chris Philo

From miasma to asthma :
the changing fortunes of medical geography in America /

Gregg Mitman;  Ronald L Numbers

Medicine and magnificence :
British hospital and asylum architecture, 1660-1815 /

Christine Stevenson

Brief ALA history with postcard illustrations

"The approximately 1,235 images in this collection have been selected from a wide range of sources, most of them dating from the period of slavery."

"more than two hundred sheet-music compositions that represent Lincoln and the war as reflected in popular music. The collection spans the years from Lincoln's presidential campaign in 1859 through the centenary of Lincoln's birth in 1909."

This article, published a few years after the US release of “Zéro de Conduite,” provides a valuable historical account of Vigo as a person and director, written by a close friend and colleague. It quickly mentions that Vigo, like all geniuses, was shunned by mainstream society before being (posthumously) lauded for his brilliance. Zilzer argues that Vigo’s life of hardship influences his films by creating a “poetry of realism” on the screen, thus taking a much less political and more aesthetic analysis of his work. He mentions how Vigo’s work was never technically perfect, but never suffered from that fact either. He then summarizes Vigo’s political heritage, all the way back to his anti-war grandfather, who was assassinated under similar circumstances as his father was. He describes Vigo’s character as a blend of the energy of his lineage with the “carefreeness” of his Basque relatives in Pyrenees. After discussing the start of his film career, Zilzer makes an insightful observation that, while filming a documentary of Nice, Vigo shot the “boredom of the rich and the enthusiasm of the poor.” Zilzer then describes the public reception of “Zéro de Conduite,” which was controversial to say the least. In fact, during the screening the lights were turned on several times and a few open fights broke out. Most interestingly, the author points out that although parts of the film could be “called surrealistic…Vigo was never considered a surrealist-his search for realism was too deep.” The article ends with a lengthy description of the production of Vigo’s final film, “L’Atalante.”
    Much of this article is useful for my thesis, particularly the personal recollection and historical accuracy it presents. By giving a more detailed description of his heritage, he solidifies the notion that Vigo’s works are strongly motivated by his anti-authoritarian upbringing. However, his description of the film as poetic realism (as opposed to surrealism) challenges my thesis. I would argue, however, that poetic realism was a tendency rather than a movement, as many others have said, and that as such, his surrealistic touches simply add to the poetry of the realism that he is portraying, by focusing on school administration from children’s eyes. I believe that “Zéro de Conduite” achieved Vigo’s search for realism by portraying more than simply superficial aspects of the oppression in school; his use of the surreal allows the audience to empathize with the children in a way that enhances their reality, ultimately creating an absolutely-realistic film, by opening up new perspectives on a recognizable institution.

full citation: Zilzer, Gyula. "Remembrances of Jean Vigo." Hollywood Quarterly. Vol. 3, No. 2  (Winter, 1947-1948). 125-128. University of California Press. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/1209357>.

Picart, Carolyn Joan S.  "Visualizing the Monstrous in Frankenstein Films."  JSTOR: Pacific Coast Philology Vol. 35, No. 1 (2000), pp. 17-34.  University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008.

    Picart writes that the production and evolution of a Frankenstein film itself is a Frankensteinian exercise, with the careful sewing together of pieces of scripts, copyright and budgetary considerations, commercial packaging, visual iterations of what the monstrous entails, directorial prerogatives, and actor interpretations.  In the process she argues, the novel itself becomes radically reworked, particularly in the way the monster is visually presented to the audience.  Unlike the novel, he can no longer deprives us of the sight of him and his monstrosity.
    Picart argues that the myth of male self-birthing underlying Mary Shelley's Frankenstein has undergone many filmic transformations that "hyperbolize, exaggerate, or radicalize" the myth itself.  She argues that the film adaptations constitute an evolving "dystopian shadow myth," which "lays bare many suppressed anxieties we have towards technology."  She goes on to argue that the myth of male self-engendering can be traced back to Greek mythology, including the birth of Dionysus from the thigh of Zeus.
    Later, Picart claims that Frankenstein's monster is the ultimate tool, and the replication of our bodies and our intelligence through scientific technology.  Humans, she writes, approach the Frankensteinian myth and the "machine" in two ways.  They either view the creature as a monstrous Other that they must harness, or as a part of themselves they must acknowledge, recognizing that the Other is part of the Self. 
    Picart engages in a lengthy discussion of female monstrosity and other gender-based issues.  She states that within the Frankenstein film category, female monsters usually live short lives, functioning as servants such as Nina the hunchbacked nurse in House of Dracula.  These female monsters, she argues, are infused with masculine spirits that are trapped in female bodies.
    With regards to the 1931 film, Picart writes that Whale's film and other Universal products of the era contain many elements of German Expressionism in terms of atmosphere and symbolism.  She writes that Whale's films employ the aesthetics of black and white film, using techniques of chiaroscuro and symbolic framing.  She notes that the film relates the creature's suffering to that of Jesus Christ through a close-up shot of the monster being strung up on a pole, with its body presented in a painful pose resembling a crucifixion.  Ultimately, Picart analyzes many other Frankenstein films over the years as a way of arguing about the problematic nature of Frankenstein narratives, and the presence of the "ruthless repression of the monstrous feminine and the feminine-as-monstrous."  Although much of the article is about gender, there is a lot of useful information about Whale's cinematic strategies.  Her argument that the production and evolution of a Frankenstein film is itself a Frankensteinian exercise is particularly interesting and relevant to the question at hand.

White, Dennis L.  "The Poetics of Horror: More than Meets the Eye."  JSTOR: Cinema Journal Vol. 10, No. 2 (Spring, 1971), pp. 1-18.  University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008.

    In this article, White is interested in analyzing the pieces that make up what most people consider to be a good film, regardless of genre.  He writes that it is not simply the pieces themselves, but something within those pieces and the way those pieces are constructed that make a film good or bad.  He writes that horror films are typically B-movies, making their analysis typically superficial and mostly limited to a summation of plot.  There is little possibility for a horror film to be considered a work of art.  Nonetheless, White links art and horror, tracing the link back to Greek tragedy.  He talks about the word "horror" being found in Aristotle's Poetics.
    With films in the Frankenstein franchise, White calls the films "nothing more than a stringing together of every horror cliché from dark castles to mad scientists to the return of the dead."  He claims that any film having anything to do with the supernatural, cults, monsters, mad scientists, graveyards, etc. is classified as a work of horror, and is often easily abused due to carelessness and overconfidence from the filmmaker.  White acknowledges that these films can be successful because they provoke the emotion of horror, but only if carefully executed.
    For films like James Whale's Frankenstein, much of the film's power is generated by its confounding of analysis, much like in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Nosferatu.  Later, White writes that although many films since have attempted to duplicate these well-known films in terms of the appearance of characters and the style of sets, duplicating these elements alone does not suggest what gives films like Frankenstein or Caligari its power.
    White argues that the two most popular subjects in all films tend to be love and death, which are often linked.  The horror film tends to display violent death and bizarre love, and plays upon our fear of death.  Audiences not only tolerate this, but also seek out and enjoy horror films.  Fear of the unknown also plays a major role in the horror genre.  In addition, in films like Whale's Frankenstein, the monsters are typically male.  Not only are they male, but their threat is often sexual.  The villagers fear a child molester more than they do a murderer.  Lastly, White argues for a less obvious fear found in horror films - that of rejection and alienation.  This is clearly present in Whale's Frankenstein, and even more so in Mary Shelley's novel.
    A successful horror film, White argues, forces viewers to suspend their reliance on a conventional frame of reference of normal life.  Instead, viewers are forced to function on the terms dictated by the film itself.  The audience leaves real world facts outside the theater temporarily, accepting the film's propositions.  In the end, horror is not an exotic emotion, but rather one that arises out of the common fears of everyday life.  Overall, the article serves as a useful analysis of the components of horror films, and an interesting evaluation of the Frankenstein series.  White's criticism is well argued and effective, and also thought provoking.

Sharrett, Christopher.  "Haunted by 20th-Century Monsters - two motion pictures offer insights into 20th century."  Findarticles.com: USA Today (Mar. 1999).  http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1272/is_2646_127/ai_54098993?tag=content;col1. Nov 27, 2008.

    Sharrett discusses the somewhat-fictionalized 1998 film Gods and Monsters, which depicts the last years of Frankenstein (1931) director James Whale.  Sharrett writes that the film follows Whale's life in its last moments, where Whale, a homosexual, fantasizes about a young handyman who becomes his model and near-protégé.  Sharrett claims that the film suggests that Whale is "haunted by memories of the monsters he created for Universal, or rather, by the internal demons these cinematic creatures came to represent for him."
    Sharrett discusses Whale's life as a repressed gay man born into a highly class-conscious 19th century British society, where his vision of the world was shaped by the horrors of World War I, which he fought in himself.  Gods and Monsters suggests that Whale's version of Frankenstein's monster represented his own "permanent estrangement" from not only Hollywood, but from humanity as well.  Whale, in the film, claims he "gave the monster dignity," something not typically present in monster or other horror films.
    Sharrett later discusses the way art may or may not function as a type of catharsis.  He claims that Whale was unable to find reconciliation with himself or the world around him.  In this way, the monster's relation to Whale and his homosexuality becomes apparent.  Sharrett relates Whale's struggles to live happily in a repressive, intolerant society to the monster's own struggle, as evidenced in Mary Shelley's novel as well as in the 1931 Whale film.  Sharrett argues that Gods and Monsters is not just about the difficulties of homosexuality, but can symbolize the experiences of any oppressed group or individual.  He also openly wonders how much of an impact the wars, chaos, and anguish of the early 20th century had on the creation of monsters in film and the horror genre in general.  In this respect, this article is very relevant to the main question.  Not only do James Whale's own life experiences play a role in the development of Frankenstein as an early horror film, but Sharrett also discusses how the wars and chaos of the early 20th century may have affected the entire horror genre, and thus film history and even the industry itself.

Juengel, Scott J.  "Face, Figure, Physiognomics: Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and the Moving Image."  JSTOR: NOVEL: A Forum on Fiction Vol. 33, No. 3 (Summer, 2000), pp. 353-376.  University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008.

    Juengel talks about cinema's fetishization of the face, claiming that the face dominates the visual field, which seals off the viewer from extraneous distractions.  This allows for "an intense manifestation of subjectivity."  He talks about close-up shots, which transform the face into something gigantic and monstrous, leading to an almost overwhelming sensation.
    In James Whale's Frankenstein as well as in the 1935 Whale film Bride of Frankenstein, Juengel writes that the viewer "struggles visually and viscerally with the renunciation of monstrous flesh."  He says that Boris Karloff's countenance provides a site of disparity between face and mask, and between human and monster.  Using close-up shots reveals the unnatural construction of the monster's face, with the stitches, seams, and folds plainly visible to the viewer.  Gazing at Karloff allows the viewer to participate in an endless visual reconstruction of the monstrous body.  He eventually calls the myth of Frankenstein a cautionary tale against this sort of unnatural recreation.
    Later, Juengel calls Whale's monster a filmic icon that attests to the triumph of technology and reproducibility that is "emblematic of the nascent cinema's cultural efficacy and reflective of a tenuous cohesion at the level of the modern body's signification."  For much of the rest of the essay, Juengel does not talk about Karloff's performance as the monster in the James Whale film, but instead analyzes Mary Shelley's original text, discovering what he calls "proto-cinematic techniques" as evidenced by the constant face-to-face "constructions of subjectivity."  He claims that these moments of the novel are visual moments, which are marked by detailed descriptions of the monster's physiognomy.  Thus, these moments function as cinematic close-ups, forcing viewers to confront and acknowledge the face of the monster.
    This article is interesting in that it focuses on one of the interesting aspects that cinema provides to a viewer, which is the fetishization of the face.  The make-up and costume work done in James Whale's film is very specific and intentional, making Mary Shelley's monster into a creature fairly different than described in her novel.  It is interesting to see how Whale uses close-up shots and a very specific framing strategy in order to capture the novel's face-to-face encounters, and allow the audience to react in a way that Victor himself reacts in the novel.   Many of these techniques and art design strategies would be heavily imitated in future science fiction and horror films, making Whale's film an important predecessor to the genres.  Juengel's discussion of the cinematic moments in Shelley's text is also particularly interesting, arguing that Shelley's novel is essentially structured for a certain type of cinematic approach, which one can argue Whale effectively achieved in certain respects.

Nagl, Manfred.  "The Science-Fiction Film in Historical Perspective." JSTOR: Science Fiction Studies Vol. 10, No. 3 (Nov., 1983), pp. 262-277.  University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008.

    Nagl calls the science fiction film the second oldest extraliterary medium, but also the most widespread and popular of all science fiction vehicles, particularly in Japan and the West.  He calls the science fiction boom of the 1970's an outcome of new production and marketing strategies, and the boom of the 1950's he credits as an expression of political anxieties and technological developments.  Overall, he writes that the science fiction film "should be recognized as the bearer of conservative and irrational ideologies."
    Later, Nagl lists the characteristics of science fiction, which include strong stereotyping, few themes, basic models, and even blatant plagiarism.  He claims that the genre is closer to comic books than to traditional literature.  Film denies viewers the imagination of the fantastic, and instead condemns itself "to visualization and thus to banalization."  He discusses the inevitable overlap of science fiction, horror, and fantasy genres, claiming that many titles fall under more than one category.
    In terms of history, Nagl traces the science fiction film back to the work of Georges Melies.  He discusses Germany's contribution to science fiction in the early 20th century, when Germany's Ufa was Hollywood's only major rival.  In particular, Nagl talks about "Caligarism" and the expressionism of German cinema, which influenced the horror variant of the science fiction genre.  Fritz Lang he credits as influencing the rise of technological-futuristic based films with works like Metropolis.
    With regards to Frankenstein and the primary question, this article is useful in several ways.  Nagl discusses the overlap of the science fiction and horror genres, with the James Whale film certainly fitting into both categories in many respects.  In his discussion of science fiction literature, Nagl states that in terms of critical reception, science fiction film neither derives nor measures up to science fiction literature.  Critics, he writes, label the science fiction film as a popular and therefore less well-developed form of science fiction.  This can clearly be seen in Frankenstein, which certainly removes many of the important elements from Mary Shelley's novel in order to achieve its desired effects and audience responses.  The film, unlike the novel, leaves little to imagination, forcing the viewer to confront the visual monstrosity of the creature, whereas the novel provides very few details of the monster's appearance.  Nagl writes that science fiction films rarely offer new points of view, instead transferring the simplest definitions of science fiction and relying on stereotypes and simple themes.

Heffernan, James A.W..  "Looking at the Monster:  Frankenstein and Film."  JSTOR: Critical Inquiry Vol. 24, No. 1 (Autumn, 1997), pp. 133-158.  University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008.

   Heffernan argues that films such as 1931's Frankenstein and other film versions of Frankenstein receive so little attention from academic critics of the novel because of the "visuality of cinema."  He writes that film versions of Frankenstein show viewers less of the monster's inner life that the novel does.  In James Whale's 1931 film, the monster, unlike in the novel, is totally silenced, forcing it to make gestures and expressions in order to communicate.  Thus, the monster's story is severely altered and shortened.  Heffernan argues that filmmakers, Whale included, regularly rip out the heart of Mary Shelley's novel by making the monster speechless or reducing his narrative.  Viewers are forced to confront the monster's physical repulsiveness, whereas in Mary Shelley's novel there are only sparse details of the monster's appearance.  As readers, our "blindness to his appearance is precisely what enables us to see his invisible nobility."  Heffernan even argues that any faithful recreation of the novel's central narrative would never even show the monster at all, and instead only the sound of his voice and the images of what he perceives.  Yet, filmmakers constantly objectify the creature using Shelley's brief descriptions, or making their own interpretations based on previous recreations of the monster on stage, in paintings, or on screen.
      Whale's 1931 film, for example, invented the monster's stitching among other changes.  Jack Pierce's makeup for Boris Karloff in the Whale film reminds viewers that the creature was a "patchwork quilt of flesh cut from dead bodies," and a "paradoxically ugly composite of features."  Another significant departure from Shelley's novel is the additional of the abnormal, criminal brain to the monster's makeup, a decision that seems to indicate that the inner nature of the creature will be wicked and monstrous, thus making its later actions appear to be a result of that inner nature.  Heffernan does argue, however, that the monster is not unequivocally ugly, and does earn some sympathy from viewers.
    Ultimately, Heffernan claims that film versions of Frankenstein "violate the tacit compact made between novel and reader" by showing readers exactly what the novel hides.  While the monster in Whale's film has captivated millions, resulting in his image being reproduced and disseminated everywhere, there is a fundamental and vast difference between the "impact of his picture on a viewing audience and the repulsiveness of the figure it represents as seen by those around him."  The article is interesting in its comparison of novels and films, analyzing what makes each effective or ineffective.  His discussion of Frankenstein's translation to screen is particularly interesting because he argues that the sight of the monster itself, arguably what makes the James Whale film a product of the horror genre, is precisely the opposite of what the novel intends and what makes the novel so frightening.

Harrington, Curtis.  "Ghoulies and Ghosties."  JSTOR: The Quarterly of Film Radio and Television Vol. 7, No. 2 (Winter, 1952), pp. 191-202.  University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008.

    Harrington discusses the early creators and innovators of cinema, who discovered the ability of the camera to present supernatural phenomena and hallucinatory images.  One of those early innovators, Georges Melies, created films with fairies, ghosts, and magicians.  However, for the most part cinema has been primarily used as a means of constructing "earth-bound reality."  Few fantasy films were attempted up until the time of Harrington's article (1952) due to their most likely financial failure.  Ultimately, Harrington argues that the camera magic of Melies and others like him was simply too obvious to viewers, reminding them of the mechanical nature of cinema.  He also writes about 1910's and 20's cinema.  Most often it was the Germans, in films such as The Golem, Chronicles of the Grieshuus, and Siegfried, who would take on the ideas mysticism and of the supernatural.  It was also the Germans who would produce the first film version of Bram Stoker's vampire story, Dracula.  Also, in F.W. Murnau's Noseferatu, Murnau used sped-up action, double exposures, and other techniques to portray the supernatural, techniques that would later be imitated by hundreds of filmmakers working in the horror and science fiction genres.
    Harrington argues that the arrival of sound would help develop and establish the fantastic horror genre in America.  Sound, along with the stock market crash of 1929, would lead the horror film to become a staple Hollywood commodity.  James Whale's 1931 film Frankenstein would be one of the defining films to help launch the fantastic horror genre.  Harrington writes that Whale, a British stage director imported to America, brought to his films "a fine sense of Gothic terror in the English tradition," as well as "an irascible though perhaps less evident sense of humor."  By 1939 however, the horror film had virtually disappeared, but would reappear during the World War II years.  Harrington argues that the films made during the war years by Universal, the studio that had been considered to be the home of the horror film due to the success of films like Frankenstein, would be ridiculous, formulaic, and lifeless.  After the war ended, the popularity of horror films declined drastically.  Harrington writes that we have seen too much of the monster in Frankenstein in subsequent horror films, all serving as poor imitations to Boris Karloff's creation in the 1931 James Whale film.  He writes of his disappointment that filmmakers haven't been able to think up something different in so many years.
    This article is interesting and relevant to the question at hand for several reasons.  Harrington's discussion of early cinema and special effects reveals some of the complications of the medium, but also its vast potential to portray the supernatural and mystic.  With Whale's Frankenstein, Harrington discusses the arrival of sound and its importance in making Frankenstein a staple commodity of the horror genre.  Interestingly, Harrington is very critical of the formulaic and lifeless nature of the horror genre in films that would follow Whale's film, which he blames for the genre's subsequent decline. 

Carroll, Noel.  "Nightmare and the Horror Film: The Symbolic Biology of Fantastic Beings." JSTOR: Film Quarterly Vol. 34, No. 3 (Spring, 1981), pp. 16-25.  University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008.

    Carroll's 1981 article credits horror and science fiction as the most popular film genres of the late 1970's and early 80's, with blockbusters such as The Exorcist and Jaws.  He calls the genre's popularity as unstoppable as some of demons and monsters its films depict.  He writes about the late seventies, early eighties cycle of science fiction and horror, claiming that the films contain feelings of paralysis, helplessness, and vulnerability.  Horror and science fiction films express a sense of powerlessness and anxiety related to the times of "depression, recession, Cold War strife, galloping inflation, and national confusion."  The purpose of his article, simply, is to analyze and examine the structures and themes of this cycle of the genres.  He states that a good subtitle for this article would be, "How to make a monster."
    While Carroll calls himself a connoisseur of science fiction literature, in terms of film he writes that science fiction has evolved as a sub-class of the horror film.  In other words, science fiction films tend to be monster films "rather than explorations of grand themes like alternate societies or alternate technologies."  His approach is a psychoanalytic one, using psychoanalysis as an interpretive tool.  He argues that psychoanalysis is extremely relevant to the horror genre in terms of the genre's themes of repressed sexuality, necrophilia, etc.  He ties the horror genre to nightmares and dreams, claiming that many horror stories originated as dreams or nightmares.
    In terms of stories caused by nightmares or modeled on dreams, Carroll lists Mary Shelly's Frankenstein, as well as Bram Stoker's Dracula and Henry James's "The Jolly Corner."  He writes that these stories are often attributed to fitful sleep, much like Robert Louis Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  With Frankenstein, Carroll calls the monster a "fusion figure," and a composite.  He writes that Mary Shelley first dreamed of the creature at a time in her life fraught with tragedies connected with childbirth.  Shelley's description of the creature's appearance even resembles that of a newborn in terms of the skin and head.
    Later, Carroll discusses James Whale's Frankenstein, which he claims emphasizes the association of the monster with a child.  Whale deliberately has the monster walk unsteadily and awkwardly.  In terms of appearance, the monster's head is oversized and its eyes are sleepy.  Unlike in the novel, the monster in the film is even more like a newborn due to its lack of speech and rudimentary cognitive skills.  In many ways the monster is a child, made of waste and filth.  Carroll suggests that the monster's rejection by society relates to Shelley's feelings of rejection by her father, William Godwin.
   Carroll's article is extremely relevant to the question due to his analysis of the themes and structures of the horror genre, as well as the sources of inspiration behind stories like Frankenstein and others.  His argument of science-fiction evolving as a sub-class of the horror genre is particularly interesting, and there is evidence to support his claim found throughout these articles on Frankenstein and both science-fiction and horror.

Spadoni, Robert.  "The Uncanny Body of Early Sound Film."  Project Muse: The Velvet Light Trap 51 (2003) 4-16.  University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008.

Spadoni discusses how the first synchronized sound films were widely considered by critics to be a drastic leap forward in terms of cinematic realism.  Synchronized sound allowed actors to appear more lifelike and three-dimensional, and ultimately more present.  In addition to these benefits, Spadoni argues that sound films helped emphasize the various uncanny qualities of cinema, resulting in a ghost-like visual quality.  He argues that this attribute influenced film production in the early years of the transition to sound.     Spadoni references critic Alexander Bakshy, who believed the success of the talkies was due to the warmth and intimacy that the presence of human voice provided - something clearly absent during the silent era.  However, Bakshy writes, the "personal magnetism of the actor has lost its force" in the talking pictures, mainly due to the viewer's awareness of the mechanical nature of cinema as well as film's reliance on stage techniques and sources.
    Spadoni discusses Sigmund Freud's theories on the uncanny in order to argue for the uncanny body effect of early sound film.  Specifically, Freud's discussion of inanimate objects that temporarily appear to be alive, and animate objects that temporarily to appear to not be alive.  He also discusses the uncanny in terms of the "unheimlich," a term that describes anything that ought to have remained secret and hidden but has come to light.  Spadoni argues that early sound film marked a return of the repressed, early film era.  The mechanical nature of early cinema and viewer sensitivity to that nature returned, disturbing audiences again until they could adjust to the new technology.  
    Lastly, Spadoni argues that the coming of sound provoked effects that brought to mind various uncanny sensations that other electronic media have historically provoked, creating a perception of unearthly presences.  For example, Spadoni writes that wireless radio enthusiasts would claim that they could pick up communications from the dead in a hissing sound.  With sound films, some of these beliefs resurfaced.  Spadoni quotes Frankenstein director James Whale, who also relates the hissing of a radio to the presence of ghosts or monsters.  Universal Pictures would take advantage of this attitude, bringing an adaptation of Bram Stoker's Dracula to the screen in 1931.  Later that year, Universal would make a horror film out of an adaptation of Frankenstein, which used cut-ins and extreme close-ups to frighten viewers.  Spadoni asks whether films like Frankenstein were reactivating and codifying viewers' fast-receding emotional memory of the uncanny bodies of the transition cinema." He argues that the coming of sound influenced the development of the horror film as a major genre in American cinema, especially in early films such as Frankenstein.  In this respect, this article is extremely useful in that it reveals the importance of sound for not only Whale's Frankenstein, but also for the future of horror and science fiction films and the film industry as a whole.

Samuelson, David N.  "Frankenstein Unwound."  JSTOR: Science Fiction Studies Vol. 26, No. 3 (Nov., 1999), pp. 487-492.  University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008

    In this review of two volumes of cultural criticism, Frankenstein's Footsteps and Screams of Reason, David Samuelson discusses the propagation of the Frankenstein myth over two centuries of popular culture, the topic of this cultural criticism.  Although Samuelson focuses mostly on Mary Shelley's novel, he later mentions several Frankenstein films including the James Whale 1931 film.  He begins by noting Shelley's foresight, and in particular her fear of Western scientists ignoring the consequences of their quest for knowledge.  Her novel, he argues, serves as a cautionary tale that has become very widespread.  In literature, film, and beyond, elements can be seen taken directly from her novel, especially allusions to Shelley's creatures, both scientist and monster.  Samuelson talks about the modern day fear of genetic engineering and biological research, relating it back to Shelley's novel.
    Samuelson notes how Victor Frankenstein, in Shelley's novel, is a forward-looking biological researcher.  He dismisses magic and superstition.  Thus, the novel is more of a creation myth "based on science as a substitute for God, a surprisingly realistic composite picture of contemporary science, and a refracted image of the dark side of science."  He notes that the novel saw many reprintings during Shelley's lifetime, including several theatrical stagings.  After Shelley's death, James Whale's 1931 adaptation helped turned the Frankenstein story into big business.  Samuelson does say that although the film and other remakes did not particularly respect the artistic integrity of the novel, they did manage to maintain certain elements of science and the quest for creation.  Even remakes like Mel Brooks's spoof Young Frankenstein maintained this theme as well.
    Later, Samuelson discusses the idea of a "Biological Revolution" that began in the 1960's, when molecular testing became possible, and after the structure of DNA was unraveled.  This would lead to genetic engineering, developments in organ transplants, and other innovations.  He mentions Gordon Rattray Taylor's 1968 non-fiction book, The Biological Time-Bomb, which highlighted fears of the loss of control over one's body and the "dissolution of the traditional human image."  Later, the birth of the first test-tube baby in 1978 led to more widespread acceptance of this new technology after the baby appeared to be normal.  With regards to the Frankenstein myth, both of the novel and of the films, DNA experiments turned the debate from a moral argument to a technical argument, pushing the Frankenstein argument further away.  He argues that more educated audiences are more accepting of modern technology, and that the Frankenstein fears have shifted into fields of artificial life and the cyborg.
    This article is interesting and relevant to the question because of Samuelson's discussion of Mary Shelley's fear of the never-ending quest for knowledge and the dangers of science, themes that would become very emblematic of the horror and science fiction genres.  These themes would be even more apparent in films like Whale's Frankenstein, as well many others others in the same genre that would follow for several decades.

This case addresses the adaptation of a novel to the big screen.  It is between the makers of the 1907 version of Ben-Hur, the Kalem Company, and Lew Wallace's estate, The Harper Brothers. 

For us, the piece of this case that is important is "whether the public exhibition of these moving pictures infringed any rights under the copyright law." 

If the court were to side with Wallace's estate, then movies would not be created without the author's permission because they "have the exclusive right to dramatize their works."  If the Kalem Company were victorious, then any novel could be made into a film based on the current copyright law because no one knew film would exist upon the law's creation.  The difference between a stage play and a motion picture is that each shot of a film was a still frame--hence a piece of art in its own. 

The Supreme Court said that "drama may be achieved by action as well as by speech," and that "action can tell a story, display all the most vivid relations between men, and depict every kind of human emotion without the aid of a word."  With this, the court found "that Ben-Hur was dramatized by what was done" meaning that the Wallace estate was the victor. 

For my question, "How can one scene effect a studio?" we can start by saying that this case established that MGM could buy the rights to the novel Ben-Hur.  Moreover, this case establishes that all authors' rights are protected in adaptations and led to all studios having to buy rights to make films. 

For MGM, seeing the build-up and hype from the novel to the stage play, helped them decide to go forward with the purchase of the rights that would lead to their movie that would end up costing them around $4,000,000.  And as mentioned in this bibliography, Ben-Hur led to a series of first in US popular culture.  The epic proportions of the chariot race scene are no exception, and because of this case we got to see the 1925 version, the 1959 version, and all of the grandeur of the imitators that followed.

In this book, Stephen Wylen explores the history of the Jews and emphasizes the parts of Early Judaism that are significant to Christians who want to understand the state of the race during Jesus' life.

For us, the important part of Wylen's book is the chapter titled "Hellenism."  Here he describes the taking over of Judah by the Roman general Pompey.  The highlights circle around Pompey going into the Jerusalem Temple and claiming that the Jews' religion was fake because there was no idol to worship.  The Jews "thought of themselves as citizens, in every way equal," but they didn't participate in "public civil...ceremonies because all of these things were formally dedicatd to the gods of the city."  Wylen says that this fact led to a "constant source of tension between Jews and Gentiles." 

The tension remained in Jesus' time.  Wylen brings forward the stories of the New Testament to illustrate the feelings the Jews and Gentiles had for one another.  In 66-70 AD the Jews failed to rebel and in 115 a "full-scale war broke out between the Jews and Gentiles."  This was under the Roman emperor Trajan who was responsible for the expansion of the Circus Maximus. 

Relating all of this to my question, "How can one scene effect a studio?" we can start by looking at the basics of Ben-Hur.  First off, Judah is a Jew who is friends with a Roman, Messala.  The story starts off with the two being friends, but later Judah Ben-Hur is arrested and Messala, who now has power, makes sure Ben-Hur is casted away.  This follows the history mentioned above and brings the tension between the Jews and Gentiles into our film.  As a side note, Ben-Hur also encounters Jesus--an encounter any Christian would like to see visually through an art form like film.

But back to the tension between Jew and Gentile, being that there was a massive, well-documented war among the two, it would be great for a studio to capitalize on the magnitude of the recorded history.  To do so, a film would have to find a way to dramatize the conflict between its two developed main characters--enter the chariot race.  As noted in other articles in this bibliography, the chariot race in Ben-Hur was the climax of the film. 

So a studio had to decide whether or not to push for an epic scene with grand architecture, massive numbers, intense drama, and a showdown between two former friends who represent two races that historically fought.  While the saying goes, down put all of your eggs in one basket, the success of Ben-Hur in both the stage play (mentioned in the bibliography) and the film was based on whether or not the producers had the guts to go a scene that had a lot of positive qualities going for it.  The only downsides I see, have already been highlighted--time, money, and resources.

In this book, Allen Guttmann takes a look at all aspects of sports' spectators from a historical standpoint.  He starts with Ancient Greece and Rome.  He then moves through the Renaissance and concludes with modern, professional sports.

For us, the important points come in the chapter, "Greek and Roman Spectators."  Here Guttmann describes the importance and popularity of the circus and its arenas.  He does this by citing the religious calendar which shows "10 days of gladiatorial games and 66 days of chariot races" in the fourth century A.D.  That's right, 66 days of chariot races!  

Guttmann then continues and reminds the readers that the "material cost of mounting...[the] games was enormous."  Moreover, the "economic factor was more important than moral considerations" when determining what events to hold.  And one event, no matter what the economic stance, can be proven popular, as Guttmann says, by simply looking at the architecture.  The Circus Maximus, which housed the chariot races, held "five times more spectators than the Colosseum." 

Guttmann even found a quote from Ammianus Marcellinus regarding the chariot races:  "the mass of the people, unemployed with too much time on their hands...For them the Circus Maximus is temple, home, community center and the fullfilment of all their hopes...They declare that the country will be ruined if at the next meeting their own particular champion does not come first of the starting-gate and keep his horses in line as he brings them round the post."

With all of this popularity among the people of the time, one could only imagine how the hype could be lived out forever on film.  So for my question, "How can one scene effect a studio?" we can ponder the thought process of the crew that had to capture all of the historic glory of the chariot race.  Pointed out more so by Guttmann, is the cost of the event at the time.  If it was expensive to have the games back in Ancient Rome for 66 days, a studio executive could predict that it would also be expensive to stage a race that had to be captured on 200,000 feet of film.

On the other side, the same executive could see all of the excitement generated by the Romans and create an epic scene which would propel his studio into the future.  And, as we know, Ben-Hur (1925) succeeded in shooting an amazing chariot race scene that setup MGM for years to come.

U. C. Knoepflmacher. "Editor’s Preface: Hybrid Forms and Cultural Anxiety." SEL Studies in English Literature 1500-1900 48.4 (2008): 745-754.

In Hybrid Forms and Cultural Anxiety, Knoepflmacher discusses cultural anxieties towards mongrels, half-races, and other forms of hybrids. He analyzes the evolution of attitudes towards “hybrids” from before Darwinian science to the modern day, where the word “hybrid” usually has a positive connotation. He traces the reflections of these anxieties in literature and art in depictions of monstrous violations of the natural order, such as in Dr. Jekyll, Dracula, and other vampires. Knoepflmacher’s interpretation of aspects of Dracula as resonating with cultural anxieties reinforces Phillips’ theory of the film Dracula’s success through appealing to contemporary cultural anxieties.

2006 by The Johns Hopkins University Press.

The article addresses the use of technology in stage plays.  Producers needed a way to show "spatial freedom" and a way to simulate depth.  Waltz examines the history of the used techniques. 

Ben-Hur's chariot race, in the 1899 play, implemented the "panorama-and-treadmill combination...a three-part moving-panorama system: one upstage, placed parrellel to the front of the stage, and two wing panoramas, angled outwards from either side...six cylinders supported and turned the painted canvas."  The cylinders were driven by a motor.

More and more detail is delved into by Waltz as she explains how the eight treadmills were operated by the horses, and how the effect of Messala losing a wheel at the end of the race is executed.  Scientific American, as quoted by Waltz, tells the reader that "ingenious" methods were used to create the desired effects--the sense of "motion perspective."  The scene was successful and created a precedent for later Ben-Hur's.

For my question, "How can one scene effect a studio?" we can start by saying the precedent set effected the audience of the film.  Everyone was expecting to see a magnificent chariot race because of all the technology used in the stage play.  MGM and the Kalem Company (who made the 1907 version) felt the pressure.  MGM especially had to spend money and other resources in order to meet the audience's expectations.  Overall, the scene had a lasting effect, and the descriptions outlined by Waltz added more details that a filmed version of the chariot race would have to call their attention too.

Cook, David A. A History of Narrative Film. New York: W. W. Norton, 1996.

In Chapter 8 of A History of Narrative Film, Cook analyzes the effects of the introduction of the sound film into the American studio system.  He asserts that the emergence of sound drastically changed the makeup of Western cinema.  Cook discusses the development and popularity of the musical film genre that came about during this time as a result of sound film technology.  He also discusses the added potential for realism enabled by the sound film, such as in the urban gangster films with their tough vernacular speech and distinctive “rat-a-tat-tat” of the Thompson submachinegun.

Cook maintains that the existing genre of the horror film was the most greatly enhanced by the addition of sound.  He alleges that sound not only enabled eerie effects to make the films’ horror elements more effective, but it also allowed horror films to retain the depth of literary dialogue present in so many of their original sources.  He attributes the success of Dracula (1931) to the boons offered by the sound film.

           Inez Hedges's review of Linda Williams's book Figures of Desire: A Theory and Analysis of Surrealist Film argues that Williams's analysis of only films “that were a historical part of the surrealist movement and were developed in direct contact with surrealist theory” (824) works well as a method of analyzing Surrealist cinema.  Williams uses Un chien andalou as a case study for analyzing the relationship between images and desire in Surrealist works and delves into the methods used by Buñuel to “[place] the viewer's experience in the uneasy zone between the imaginary and the symbolic, and [force] a confrontation with the very psychic energy that enables [him or] her to enjoy films," a method she views as common in Surrealist films' attempts to “[break] up the spectator's process of identification with the characters” (825).  She goes further in this analysis concluding that the film “sets up a conventional narrative space and then violates it, leaving the spectator especially vulnerable to the surrealist message" (Hedges 825) and then extends this analysis to other films such as Le Fantôme de la liberté, Cet obscur objet du désir, and L'Age d'or.
          Hedges's article provides a means of clarifying Linda Williams's theory of Surrealist film goals and practices combined with Flitterman-Lewis's writings on Artaud's intentions enable a better analysis of The Seashell and the Clergyman and its place in Surrealist film history.  Flitterman-Lewis argues that Artaud's main objection to Dulac's film was the lack of an experience forced upon the viewer.  This experience, in the view of Williams, results from the lack of character identification; without being able to identify with a character in the film and thus experience the thoughts, actions, feelings, and ideas (or as Williams would characterize them, desires) of that character, the viewer is forced into his or her own experience, one which requires the viewer to interpret, experience, and judge events and actions in the film rather than relying on characters to do so.  Flitterman-Lewis outlines common techniques used to establish this situation (superimposition, split shots, lighting, etc.) and provides an analysis of how The Seashell and the Clergyman also establishes such a situation.  Therefore, by examining Williams's theory and Flitterman-Lewis's evaluations of Artaud and the film, it is possible to construct a framework for evaluating what constitutes a Surrealist film and whether or not The Seashell and the Clergyman fits into that framework (an argument which Flitterman-Lewis makes well when it is placed into Williams's theoretical framework.)

Hedges, Inez. "Review: [untitled]." The French Review 59 (1986): 824-25.

“In keeping with the principal tenets of surrealism, Artaud would claim that art is a real experience that goes far beyond human understanding and attempts to reach a metaphysical truth. The artist is always a man inspired who reveals a new aspect of the world” (Fowlie).  Fowlie's biographical account of Artaud's life and his theories of theater reveal much about his beliefs on Surrealism.  In addition to seeing the potential for a new type of theatre in the French movements of his time, Artaud also spent a number of years in a sanitorium and while Fowlie makes no connection between this and Artaud's theory of surrealism, an examination of that theory strongly implies a connection to a confusing world where the interpretations of others did not match what Artaud himself must have been experiencing at the time.  Artaud's theory of Surrealism centered on dream worlds and the idea that art should be a collaboration between artist and viewer, requiring the viewer to play a role in creating the experience as much as the artist does.  Artaud's theory began in theatre and focused on the use of speech and gesticulation as well as the content and scenery of the play: everything played a role in creating the experience. 
    Thus, it is easy to see the jump between Artaud's theory of Surrealist theatre and Surrealist film, both of which contain not only the spatial elements of other forms of art, but temporal elements and the ability to manipulate them.  Film offered one potential advantage over theatre: the ability to control temporal aspects more tightly and cleanly than theatre.  Artaud became devoted to his theory, obsessing over a multitude of things, including the theatre.  “However one interprets the terrifying obsessions of Artaud, they allowed him to see into unusual depths of the human mind, where he claimed the eternal questions on life and death are clearly visible” (Fowlie).  He rebelled against morality and rationality as constructs of humans in a material world and thus obsessed over the dream world where such things did not exist.  These obsessions can be seen in The Seashell and the Clergyman: a priest erotically obsessed with a woman consistently sees her in various situations in his blurred, dimly lit, and confusing dream world.  The obvious immorality of a man sworn to celibacy obsessing over a woman is combined with the irrationality of a dream wherein the man seemingly has no control over the course of events and is subjected to a number of random, inexplicable visions and experiences.

Dionysus in Paris. Wallace Fowlie. New York: Meridian Books, Inc., 1960. p. 203-209.

            Linda William's article reviews Steven Kovàcs's book From Enchantment to Rage: The Story of Surrealist Cinema and offers a method of examining the history of Surrealist cinema, namely “a return to the history of Surrealism proper: how the Surrealist poets and artists in the main phase of the movement (1923-1930) turned their talent and energy to film; how their painting, photography, and poetry found new forms of expression in this emerging art; the development of this new aesthetics of film from the 'enchantment' of the early twenties to the 'rage' typified by the 1930 L'Age d'or" (Williams 41).  William's chastises Kovàcs's lack of significant analysis of the role of dreams in Surrealist film, an element she views as extremely important to understanding the goals of the movement.  To illustrate this point, she takes the example of Kovàcs's examination of Dalí and Buñuel: "the issue points out a problem in the book's general approach: an assessment of Surrealist cinema is not a question of sorting out individual personalities and their contributions.  If Surrealism deserves its 'ism' then there is something more to Buñuel and Dalí's collaboration than the fortuitous encounter of two individual psychic obsessions.  To my mind that something is to be found in the formal procedures of the unconscious which Buñuel and Dalí so brilliantly adapted to the creation of their films" (Williams 42).
            Williams's review offers two important tools for the examination of The Seashell and the Clergyman: first, she argues that an examination of the history of Surrealist film should focus on how Surrealist artists turned their ideas into film and how film enabled a method of expression unavailable in other art forms; and second, she highlights the importance of dreams, their structure, and their natural functioning and the role they played in the making of Surrealist films.  The first tool lends more analysis to Flitterman-Lewis's examination of Artaud's paradoxical claim that The Seashell and the Clergyman was the first surrealist film despite his insistence that Dulac failed to recreate more than the material appearance of construction of dreams, without expressing an experience of dreaming.  William's method of analysis would factor in the exclusion of Artaud from the artistic direction of the film, separating Artaud from the ability to express through film and leaving it entirely up to Dulac.  To resolve this seeming paradox, the only logical conclusion must be that Artaud found the film to be an adequate Surrealist expression of the dream, though it was not an interpretation true to his understanding and visualization of the scenario.  Williams places the “main phase” of the movement within the period 1923-30, ending just after The Seashell and the Clergyman and Un chien andalou were made, thus reinforcing Flitterman-Lewis's agument that Dulac and Artaud's film was the first Surrealist film due to the amount in terms of technique and means of expression that later movies would borrow from it.

Williams, Linda. "From Enchantment to Rage: The Story of Surrealist Cinema." Film Quarterly 34 (1981): 41-42.

Grace, Harry A. "Charlie Chaplin's Films and American Culture Patterns."  The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism. 10 (1952): 353-363.

This article reviews several of Chaplin's films including Modern Times to show how they are relevant to the problems of society at the time.  The article reviews the film under the assumption that the major themes of his films are illustrations of American historical events/periods over time. Modern Times (1936) represents the effects of the industrialization period on men.  More specifically Modern Times portrays the job situation for men in the age of technological advancement.  Industrialization led to a different job experience for he working class man.  Large assembly lines became the norm for lower income workers in order to produce mass products by machinery.

This relates to my thesis because it highlights the problem of the job situation workers faced after industrialization.  Assembly lines in large factories lead to a loss of indivduality.  Everyone is doing the same work at the same time for the same amont of time everyday.  We see in the film that assembly lines are monotonous, repetitive, and can lead one to almost go insane (We see Chaplin's character act as though he is working in the assembly line even when he is on a lunch break).  Workers are no longer individuals; they are merely an extension of the machines solely there to create products for profit.

Scott W. Hoffman " Ben-Hur". St. James Encyclopedia of Pop Culture. . FindArticles.com. 30 Nov. 2008. http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_g1epc/is_tov/ai_2419100110

This article outlines the history of Ben-Hur.  It was written by Lew Wallace and started "an amazing series of first in American popular culture."  With its publishing in 1880, Ben-Hur slowly became a very popular book.  It only sold 2800 copies in its first seven months, but it sailed over a million in 1911. 

In 1907 the Wallace estate ended up suing the makers of a film based on the novel which led to the "first recognition of an author's rights in film adaptations."  However, in 1922, the Goldwyn Company purchased the rights to the film and set the epic in motion.  The most notable attribute of the epic which was released in 1925 was the chariot race. 

The chariot race nearly broke the studio because of its massive budget and demands on both human labor and population.  Hoffman says that the race "changed the face of filmmaking," and because of that, the audience of the time flocked to see the premiere.  Hoffman further tells us that the critics of the time "praised the film (more for its 'grandeur,' however, than its 'story')."  

For my bibilography I'm going to focus on the chariot race scene and how it affected the studio.  How its shooting changed the face of filmmaking and why the history of the situation leads to an epic rush of emotion that led to the chariot race being remembered throughout Hollywood's history.  Hoffman starts off answering my question of "How one scene can effect a studio?" by telling us that the film was known more for its grandeur and that "its considerable expenditure of money and horses made this sequence a brilliant tour-de-force that established...lavish production values."

Excerpts from this book address intellectual property rights and their protection, compliance, and enforcement in China. After China's entry into the World Trade Organization, which subsequently extended the TRIPs agreement to its borders, China has seen mixed results on its attempts to enforce the standards and statutes outlined in the TRIPs agreement. According to the authors, China's IP law currently offers protection consistent with the minimum requirement of TRIPs. However, the authors suggest that in order to elimanate some of the shortcomings of the TRIPs framework, Article 7 of TRIPS and its role must be enhanced in order to restore balance: "the protection and enforcement of intellectual property rights should contribute to the promotion of technological innovation and to the transfer and dissemination of technology, to the mutual advantage of producers and users of technological knowledge and in a manner conducive to social and economic welfare, and to a balance of rights and obligations. However, the landscape of international intellectual property is changing, and the authors point out the diverging trend of multilateral institutions leaning towards securing the access of developing countries to protected content and material on reasonable terms while bilateral trade agreements continue to enforce strict copyright rules in favor of the developed nation. However, we must take TRIPs on facevalue and should be viewed as part of the broader strategy of priority setting, education, and institutional capacity building, regulaory adaptation, FDI marketing, and patent mining. Nevertheless, piracy and counterfeiting are still significant threats to right holders. The Chinese policy of administrative enforcement of copyright law often impedes its very goal due to longstanding local protectionism and cronyism as well as the internal bureaucratic rivalries that prevent the creation of a comprehesive IP strategy.  However, the Chinese have instituted judicial review of these administrative decisions, increases in the maximum fines available for IP infringements, and lower thresholds for criminal liability. Although change has come at a sluggish pace and Chinese IP enforcement will never rival that of many Western nations, China has made considerable steps in order to comply with TRIPs legislation.

The general opinion seems to agree that China has come a long way in IPR enforcement, but it still has a long way to go. As the broader themes of this paper come together, this article will serve to point on many of the drawbacks of the Chinese system and what can  be done to change this as well as the steps taken by China to meet the minimum requirements of the TRIPs agreement. While enforcement is still an issue, this authors make clear that we must be patient due to the extenuating circumstances of China's robust economy coupled with a lagging administrative stucture and status as a developig nation.

Much like their respective copyright histories, the U.S. response to piracy in China is markedly different than that in Russia. During the last year of the Quing Dynasty, 1910, the Chinese government enacted its first comprehensive  copyright law, although it was short-lived and barely enforced. THe rise of the Communist Party after World War II spelled a dramatic change as China closed its doors to foreign influence and banished any Western idea of copyright that lasted until  its adoption of the Open Door Policy in the 1970s. Following U.S. pressure for more protective IPR's China enacted the Copyright Law of the People's Republic of China i 1990, granting private rights to authors although still sticking to its socialist principles. However, there was limited protection for foreign works and over subsequent years, sustained pressure and threats of trade sanctions by the U.S. continually beefed of the Chinese laws. Overall, the U.S. placed China on the priority country list under Special 301 and threateed trade sanctions on three separate occasions in the 90's.

The U.S.' notably more aggressive response to Chinese piracy in comparison to Russian piracy illustrates not only the importance of the Chinese market for American goods but also the rampant and blatant copyright infringement in China that the U.S. goverment as attempted to chip away at over the years. This article identifies what tools and sanctions the U.S. government can use in order to enforce its trade agreements. This is important for it will help me further contextualize the role Chinese piracy has played in U.S. foreign trade agreements and the degree to which the United States will go to protect its largest exports, its media and culture. However, its important to note that while the threat of U.S. trade sanctions was often an effective, short term solution to the Chinese piracy problems, eventually these measures deteriorated until further sanctions were threatened. We can therefore see the necessity for foreign cooperation in to enforce international trade agreements and copyright laws.

Extensive coverage of scholarly articles about the history of the U.S. and Canada.

This book is a great source if you want to know who has recieved the death chair. It dates back to the 1900's. It also tells you why, when and how the person recieved the death penalty.

This website to shows its view points on the death penalty by using graphic pictures. This website is also very informational, it tells whose recieved the death penalty and what form was used on them.

This website explains the death penalty, how it works, what crimes you have to commit to get the electric chair, etc.

This page describes how the death penalty started and where it began. It also tells how its changed since the 1900's.

Coverage of scholarly articles about the History of the U.S. and Canada.  Includes articles relating to American foreign relations, Americans abroad and American interventions in Europe.

Included here are research papers by Archives Director Mark Frazier Lloyd, by students in the Department of History's Senior Honors Program in American History, and Summer Research Fellows at the University Archives.

Brief, often one-paragraph entries, some with bibliographic references.

View selected historic maps and aerial photographs, mixed with current data from Google in a Google Maps viewer. The "crown jewel" is a full-city mosaic of the 1942 Philadelphia Land Use Maps.

Title: Logging, Lumbering, & Forestry Museums: A Review
Author(s): Douglas F. Davis
Source: Forest History, Vol. 17, No. 4 (Jan., 1974), pp. 28-31
Publisher(s): Forest History Society and American Society for Environmental History
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4004139

Albert Music Hall. Traditional musical gatherings of the NJ Pinelands. An evening of live country, bluegrass, and pinelands music each Saturday night at 7:30 PM. Year round

Denton, William. "FRBR and the History of Cataloging."

Chapter 4 in Understanding FRBR: What It Is and How It Will Affect Our Retrieval, edited by Taylor, Arlene G.

An explanation of where FRBR (Functional Requirements for Bibliographic Records) comes from, given by a look at the work of librarians such as Panizzi, Cutter, Ranganathan, and Lubzetsky, and an examination of four themes in the history of library cataloging: the use of axioms to explain the purpose of catalogs, the importance of user needs, the idea of the "work," and standardization and internationalization.

Downing, Taylor.  Olympia.  London: BFI Publishing, 1992.

            The chapter “Aftermath” in Taylor Downing’s examination of Olympia describes the reception of the film and its post-release history.  Initially the film received generally positive reviews, but as Germany became more threatening, Riefenstahl and the film became less popular, resulting in a boycott of the film in the United States.  For the rest of her life, Riefenstahl would have trouble clearing her reputation for her involvement with the Nazi party.  The film stands as a major artistic achievement, however, and the author notes its influence on films about future Olympics, although competition with television coverage of the games made a cinematic masterpiece such as Olympia more difficult.  Downing argues that Olympia beautifully captured the spirit of the Olympics, and Riefenstahl’s use of retakes in the film aid its artistic vision if they decrease its level of journalism.

            The chapter concludes by grappling with the film’s propaganda question.  Downing notes that the Berlin Olympics themselves were designed as propaganda to promote Germany as a friendly, peace-loving nation, and hence the Nazi party invested in Riefenstahl’s production to display their propaganda to the world.  The author affirms Riefenstahl’s artistic independence during the production, however, and concludes the film is not intentionally propagandistic.  Nevertheless, he maintains the film is still political since it was set up for political reasons and documents a political event, but he argues this fact does not and should not detract from its artistic merit.

Large, David Clay.  Nazi Games: The Olympics of 1936.  New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2007.

            The chapter “Olympia” in David Clay Large’s book on the 1936 Olympics provides a succinct history of the film.  It notably refutes some of the claims made by Riefenstahl regarding her independence from the Nazi party in the making of the film.  While Riefenstahl claims the film was commissioned by the International Olympic Committee and funded by a firm called Tobis Films, the author contends it was commissioned by the Nazi Ministry of Propaganda and financed by the party.  Furthermore, while Riefenstahl claims that Joseph Goebbels, the Minister of Propaganda, was at odds with her, Large asserts that he tolerated her despite his preference for a different director to make the film, although he acknowledges that Goebbels did cause some problems for Riefenstahl such as when he audited her company.  The chapter then discusses some of the technical innovations of the film and some of the difficulties the crew encountered during filming, and finally finishes by describing the mixed critical reception Riefenstahl received internationally.

            The chapter also devotes some time to discussing the film’s propaganda value.  Large argues the film, even the German version, was not explicitly partisan in any particular way.  The film gives no sense that the Germany was the winning team, and it includes some of the nation’s defeats as well, although the Ministry of Propaganda did mandate fair reporting of the games.  On the other hand, while the author notes that the black Jesse Owens was portrayed very favorably, other black athletes did not receive as much screen time as they probably deserved.  Furthermore, many of the most dramatic moments are of German athletes, and some events featured disproportionately more footage of Germany and her allies Japan and Italy.  Additionally, the German version contained more shots of Hitler and swastikas and placed a greater emphasis on the games as a national battle.  And finally, the film’s glorification of physical perfection and the communitarian togetherness depicted in the Olympic Village are reminiscent of Nazi values.  The author concludes by suggesting the film’s late release lessened its political potential as propaganda to foreigners, however, since by then Germany was well into its path of aggression, undermining any sense of international good will the film could evoke.

Hinton, David B.  The Films of Leni Riefenstahl.  Filmmakers Series, No. 74.  Lanham: Scarecrow Press, 2000.

            David B. Hinton provides a succinct history and analysis of Olympia in his chapter of the same title in his collection of works on Riefenstahl’s films.  He holds it to be the first truly successful film about the Olympics, having been a massive undertaking that captured the spirit and beauty of the games in ways that previous newsreel footage could not.  He praises the prologue of the film, set in the Greece, which connects the games to their ancient roots and implies the unchanging nature of beauty.  He spends some time detailing the meticulous preparations Riefenstahl made for shooting the film such as devising innovative camera techniques that influenced how sports would be shot from then on.  He goes on to describe Riefenstahl’s perfectionist quality, as she controlled every aspect of production to the minutest detail.  The end result of her toils was that the film did not just record the games but rather illustrated the essence of each event, such as the physical strain of the marathon and the beauty of the divers.

            The chapter discusses some of the accusations of propaganda leveled against the film but discredits most of them.  Hinton notes that Riefenstahl’s use of retakes made the film less of a historical documentary but more of an artistic vision, which could potentially aid any propaganda aims.  Still, he rejects the presence of Hitler in the film as evidence of propaganda because his appearance is brief and unspectacular.  Furthermore, Riefenstahl’s choice to give the black Jesse Owens significant credit for his athletic accomplishments instead of downplaying them undercuts any support for racist Nazi ideology.  The Germans are not portrayed as a “master race,” but rather internationalism is honored, as the Olympic flag is the dominant symbol, not the swastika.  Some critics have contended that the glorification of competitiveness and strength reflects fascist ideals, but Hinton argues that this is an inherent quality of the Olympics themselves and not the film.

Mandell, Richard D.  The Nazi Olympics.  New York: The Macmillan Company, 1971.

Richard D. Mandell’s work on the 1936 Olympics provides a notably positive overview of Olympia in his chapter “The Olympics Preserved.”  The chapter begins with background information about Riefenstahl, her career, and her close relationship with Hitler.  Mandell then turns to the film itself and notes its technical achievements in areas such as editing and its use of zoom lenses and slow motion, which ultimately contributed to a dramatic cinematic experience that was unprecedented in sports film.  Mandell likens Riefenstahl in the editing process of the film to composing a masterpiece more than a documentary film.  He then spends some time analyzing particular scenes to reveal their drama and beauty, but notes that the second part of the film, “Festival of Beauty,” is less successful than the first because it is more disjointed and varied.  The chapter ends with a discussion of Riefenstahl’s disgrace after World War II for her associations with the Nazi party, a fate the author considers lamentable given her artistic genius.

            Mandell’s appraisal of Olympia is mostly positive, and he considers the film to be largely non-political and lacking in propagandistic content.  He points out the prominence of black and Asian athletes in the film as evidence of the film’s disassociation with racist Nazi beliefs.  He acknowledges that the mass exercise scene is reminiscent of the grand and awe-inspiring shots of Triumph of the Will, but contends that it is nonpolitical and only meant to convey beauty.  Mandell does admit, however, that the film does capture the Nazis’ promotion of nationalism through the games’ intense communal competitiveness.

Palmer, A. (2000). 20th century treatment of mental illness. Mental Health World, 2, Retrieved April 8, 2008, from http://www.mentalhealthworld.org/29ap.html

This article by Ann Palmer investigates the history of the treatment of mental illness.  It begins by looking at the view of mental illness in the 19th century.  In those times, the insane were viewed as incurable and subhuman, condemned to life in jail cells or almshouses. As time went on, however, professionals dealing with the mentally ill were expected to treat them with respect and compassion.  This led to the rise of the asylum system, whose main goal was to isolate “lunatics” in hopes that this would be therapeutic and enable them to return to the “normal” community.  These asylums employed such techniques as wrist and ankle restraints, and stupor-inducing drugs, to force the mentally ill into docility.  After the conditions of asylums were made known, responsibility for the mentally ill moved to the state.  It was hoped that this would ensure better conditions for the inmates.  Even so, these new state mental hospitals were far from ideal. Misguided treatments included untested drugs, electroconvulsive therapy, induced seizures, and, perhaps more horrifying of all, lobotomies.
In the 50s and 60s, and most notably with President Kennedy's Community Mental Health Centers Act, there began a movement towards shifting the treatment of the mentally ill from an asylum system to a community-based mental health system. Though this tended to ignore the more severely and chronically ill patients, it did enable many patients to live independently within a community, and was a vast improvement to the mental hospitals of before.  Films such as Cuckoo's Nest also served to persuade the public against the use of electroconvulsive shock therapy, and led to the focus of the medical community on antipsychotic drugs instead.
This article is significant to the film because it describes the difficulties in mental health care that the movie illuminates.  One of the most powerful aspects of the film is its portrayal of a psychiatric ward.  Though on the surface the ward is clean, well-kept, and tightly run, there is an undercurrent of repression and cruelty.  Cuckoo's Nest serves just as well as an eye-opener as it does a critique of mental hospital conditions.  The film takes place in the 60s, after the archaic asylum system was demolished, but before the community-based system firmly took hold.  We can see evidence of this transition phase in the film.  The laughable “group therapy” sessions, and Nurse Ratched's tireless insistence that the inmates behave in a manner compliant with the entire ward's desires are signs of the effort to move toward community mental health care.  This system is even parodied in the film.  When McMurphy attempts to change the TV schedule for a day in order to watch the World Series, Nurse Ratched demands a majority vote.  She claims that schedule changes are to be made only if they are accepted by the whole community, even though only one more vote would enable McMurphy to win.  This mocks the idea that there is even such a thing as a communally beneficial system.
There are signs, too, of the older, more barbaric mental health care facilities.  When a few of the inmates cause an uproar during one of the group meetings,  they are all sentenced to a round of electroconvulsive therapy.  The procedure is shown with dramatic realism, and presents it as a form of brutality.  In the powerful ending, McMurphy is shown after having undergone a lobotomy: a blank, mindless drone devoid of any of the human nature and individuality he came in with.

A blast from the past (including good old electric erasers ;)

Now updated to include preservation and circulation artifacts, and other misc. library 'technology' 

History of manufactures in the United States : 1607-1860

by Victor S Clark

By Edward Weiner
Published 1999 Praeger/Greenwood
247 pages
ISBN 0275963292

Summary
The development of U.S. urban transportation policy over the past 50 years illustrates the changing relationship between federal, state, and local governments. This comprehensive text examines the evolution of urban transportation planning from early developments in highway planning in the 1930s to the concern for sustainable development and pollution emissions. Focusing on major national events, the book discusses the influence of legislation, regulations, conferences, federal programs, and advances in planning procedures and technology. The book offers an in-depth look at the most significant event in transportation planning--the Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1962. Creating a federal mandate for a comprehensive urban transportation planning process carried out cooperatively by states and local governments with federal funding, this act was crucial in the spread of urban transporation. Claiming that urban transportation planning is more sophisticated, costly, and complex than its highway and transit planning predecessors, the book demonstrates how urban transportation planning evolved in response to changes in such factors as environment, energy, development patterns, intergovernmental coordination, and federal transit programs. It further illustrates how broader concerns for global climate change and sustainable development have braided the purview of transportation planning.

Taxi drivers are the most enduring oppressed minority in New York City history. Race, ethnicity and religion are not sources of the oppression. It lies entirely in the nature of the work. Trapped for about 12 hours each day in the worst traffic in the United States, taxi drivers must suffer the savage frustrations of jammed streets, double-parked cars, immense trucks, drivers from New Jersey - and they can't succumb to the explosive therapy of road rage. Their living depends on self-control.

At the same time, they face many other hazards: drunks behind them in the cab, fare beaters, stickup men, Knicks fans filled with biblical despair, out-of-town conventioneers who think the drivers are mobile pimps. Some seal themselves off from the back seat with the radio, an iPod or a cellphone. All pray that the next passenger doesn't want to go from Midtown to the far reaches of Brooklyn or Queens. They hope for a decent tip. They hope to stay alive until the next fare waves from under a midnight streetlamp.

In this informative, solid history, Graham Russell Gao Hodges traces the story of the cabdrivers from 1907, when the first metered taxis appeared on New York streets, to the present. He writes with obvious sympathy, having driven a hack himself before moving on to academic labors as a historian at Peking University and Colgate. Loneliness is a running theme in "Taxi!": if the title were not already taken, Hodges could have called his compact history "One Hundred Years of Solitude.

p. 78 "The cultural data of phonograph records was importantly a matter of representation....In many respects it was their physical quality as standardized, mass-produced goods taht helped to enforce their quality as specific cultural data, even as the culture they representd proved variable and unspecific in the extreme....What I am suggesting is that phonograph records frequently proved transgressive of the very cultural categories that they helped to represent as distinct or specific."

on "ethnic" records see Lizbeth Cohen (1990, 105), Victor Greene (1992) 

This is the Robert Moses most of us know today, courtesy of Robert A. Caro's Pulitzer Prize-winning biography from 1974, "The Power Broker," which charts Moses' long reign as city parks commissioner (1934-60) and chairman of the Triborough Bridge and Tunnel Authority (1946-68). A 1,286-page book that reads like a novel, it won a Pulitzer Prize and virtually redefined the biographical genre by raising the bar for contemporary research. Today it remains the premier text on the evolution of 20th-century New York, a portrait of a man who used his power without regard for the human toll.

from publisher...

What is the magic formula for turning a place into a high-tech capital? How can a city or region become a high-tech powerhouse like Silicon Valley? For over half a century, through boom times and bust, business leaders and politicians have tried to become "the next Silicon Valley," but few have succeeded. This book examines why high-tech development became so economically important late in the twentieth century, and why its magic formula of people, jobs, capital, and institutions has been so difficult to replicate. Margaret O'Mara shows that high-tech regions are not simply accidental market creations but "cities of knowledge"--planned communities of scientific production that were shaped and subsidized by the original venture capitalist, the Cold War defense complex.

At the heart of the story is the American research university, an institution enriched by Cold War spending and actively engaged in economic development. The story of the city of knowledge broadens our understanding of postwar urban history and of the relationship between civil society and the state in late twentieth-century America. It leads us to further redefine the American suburb as being much more than formless "sprawl," and shows how it is in fact the ultimate post-industrial city. Understanding this history and geography is essential to planning for the future of the high-tech economy, and this book is must reading for anyone interested in building the next Silicon Valley.

Margaret Pugh O'Mara teaches history at Stanford University. The dissertation this book is based upon won the Urban History Association's award for Best Dissertation in Urban History completed in 2002.

from publisher...

What is the magic formula for turning a place into a high-tech capital? How can a city or region become a high-tech powerhouse like Silicon Valley? For over half a century, through boom times and bust, business leaders and politicians have tried to become "the next Silicon Valley," but few have succeeded. This book examines why high-tech development became so economically important late in the twentieth century, and why its magic formula of people, jobs, capital, and institutions has been so difficult to replicate. Margaret O'Mara shows that high-tech regions are not simply accidental market creations but "cities of knowledge"--planned communities of scientific production that were shaped and subsidized by the original venture capitalist, the Cold War defense complex.

At the heart of the story is the American research university, an institution enriched by Cold War spending and actively engaged in economic development. The story of the city of knowledge broadens our understanding of postwar urban history and of the relationship between civil society and the state in late twentieth-century America. It leads us to further redefine the American suburb as being much more than formless "sprawl," and shows how it is in fact the ultimate post-industrial city. Understanding this history and geography is essential to planning for the future of the high-tech economy, and this book is must reading for anyone interested in building the next Silicon Valley.

Margaret Pugh O'Mara teaches history at Stanford University. The dissertation this book is based upon won the Urban History Association's award for Best Dissertation in Urban History completed in 2002.

The Postillae of Nicholas of Lyra was the first biblical commentary to be printed. His Postillae on the Song of Songs was very widely read; it was reprinted in 34 editions by 1550. The word "postilla" apparently derives from the Latin post illa [verba], "after these words" used in medieval sermons; it refers to comments on biblical texts. Nicholas's Literal Postilla explained the Biblical text word by word.

Nicholas was a Franciscan. He read Hebrew and used Rabbinic sources such as Rashi. He knew that דדיך ddyk in Song 1:2 should be translated "amores" instead of "ubera". In his view, the first six chapters of the Song recount the history of Israel from the Exodus to the return from Babylonian Exile, and the last two chapters recount the history of the Church to Constantine.

The History of Medicine subset of PubMed includes citations to journal articles in the history of the health and biomedical sciences dating back to 1966. New records are added to PubMed daily.

This page shows how to search for historical articles in PubMed.

The Valley of the Shadow is a digital archive of primary sources that document the lives of people in Augusta County, Virginia, and Franklin County, Pennsylvania, during the era of the American Civil War. Here you may explore thousands of original documents that allow you to see what life was like during the Civil War for the men and women of Augusta and Franklin.

This section shows the routes of battles of union and confederate soldiers in the area.