Johnson, William. "Orson Welles: Of Time and Loss." Film Quarterly (Autumn, 1967). JSTOR. University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008.<ttp://proxy.library.upenn.edu:2097/stable/1211027?&Search=yes&term=citizen&term=welles&term=orson&term=kane&term=toland&term=gregg&list=hide&searchUri=%2Faction%2FdoAdvancedSearch%3Fq0%3Dcitizen%2Bkane;f0%3Dall;c0%3DAND;q1%3Dorson%2Bwelles;f1%3Dall;c1%3DOR;q2%3Dgregg%2Btoland%2B;f2%3Dall;c2%3DAND;q3%3D;f3%3Dall;wc%3Don;Search%3DSearch;sd%3D;ed%3D;la%3D;jo%3D&item=7&ttl=571&returnArticleService=showArticle>.

   In his article, Orson Welles: Of Time and Loss, William Johnson evaluates the major works of Orson Welles, stating that Welles' "films are a triumph of show over substance. His most memorable images seem like elephantine labors to bring forth mouse-size ideas" (14). Citing examples from Falstaff, Lady from Shanghai, Touch of Evil, The Trial, Arkadin, Stranger, Magnificent Ambersons, and Othello, Johnson points out that the success of each of Welles' films has depended upon his ability to balance a multitude of opposites - juxtaposing sophistication against simplicity, realism with expressionism, introversion and extroversion, and clarity with confusion to render Welles' style not easy to generalize (24).
     Johnson contends that Welles' treatment of the age-old theme of lost innocence in Citizen Kane earned this film its reputation for innovation. At the relatively young age of 25, Welles' primary achievement in Citizen Kane was the full development of techniques which married narrative structure with cinematographic style to a depth not previously seen. Employing wide-angle perspective, long takes, sudden cuts, complex leaps in chronology, short vignettes, and other techniques, Welles balances all manner of opposites to explore the private and public persona of the character, Kane (14). The narrative structure superimposes a reporter's investigation into Rosebud over flashbacks depicting the recollections of Kane's acquaintances. In this manner, Welles takes the viewer from Kane's end to his beginning, with leaps in time throughout the film (19). Told from seven different perspectives, i.e. five interviewees, a reporter, and the "God's-eye-view," Welles combines opposites and contradictions to reveal Kane's story. In successive scenes, Welles shifts from stillness to movement, from silence to loud noise, from darkness to light, all of which makes the entire film look and sound quite modern decades after it was shot (14, 19).

Naremore, James. Magic world of Orson Welles. New York: Oxford University Press, 1978. 65-101.
    James Naremore’s chapter on Citizen Kane in his book The Magic World of Orson Welles, discusses the question of authorship in Citizen Kane and leads the reader in a scene by scene description and analysis of the film. This analysis discusses many aspects of the film including but not limited to: themes, stylistic technique, camera movement, political bent, relationship to Hearst’s life, and psychological components of characters. Naremore’s chapter concludes with a quick description of the reactions of Hollywood, Hearst and Welles to the release of Citizen Kane.
     In his analysis, Naremore explains how camera movements in Citizen Kane create a voyeuristic stylistic motif. In numerous scenes, the camera moves in towards the action and then is thwarted by an object, often a door, wall or window, which blocks the shot. The shot then features a dissolve following which the camera is able to move in closer towards the action. This persistent camera movement through tangible obstacles reflects the camera’s main function as “ a restless, ghostly observer” which seeks to probe into the private life of Kane while the obstacles function to disturb the audience’s curiosity and constantly remind them that they are watching a film. Welles constant reminders to the audience, that they are watching a movie serves to establish a second layer of doubt, than that already seeded by the plot of Citizen Kane, upon the truthfulness of all reporting and media. The voyeuristic stylistic motif is enhanced by the wide angle, deep focus cinematography. As Kane becomes increasingly isolated, wide-angle deep focus shots appears more frequently to create a feeling of separation from Kane in the audience. Even when there are no tangible obstacles in the way of the camera, the camera’s initial inquisitiveness seems trumped by the vast expanses depicted in many of the later shots between Kane and others at Xanadu. The deep focus shots in Citizen Kane also serve to give a gaudy and sensational view of Kane’s private life by allowing the viewer to see many layers of action in each shot in a highly voyeuristic manner. Naremore also discusses how Citizen Kane can be seen as a partial autobiography of Orson Welles. Evidently, Welles’ focus on Kane’s infantile anger is modeled after his own reputation as an “enfant terrible.” Additionally, Kane was raised by a guardian and modeled the character of Raymond after his own butler. The parallels between the story of Kane and his own life allowed Welles to focus the story on the psychology of Kane and less on Kane’s politics and newspaper empire.

Carringer, Robert L. Making of Citizen Kane / Robert L. Carringer.  Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. 16-35.

       In his book The Making of Citizen Kane, Robert Carringer dedicates one chapter to the history of the scripting of the film. Carringer explains why Herman Mankiewicz was hired as the screenwriter and how he did most of his writing away from Hollywood with John Houseman because both he and Welles feared repression from William Randolph Hearst. Mankiewicz and Houseman's first script was called American and featured Kane as an unconsolidated collage of Hearst. After producing a second draft, Mankiewicz had to leave to work on a project at MGM and from this point onward no longer had a large impact on the development on the script. According to Carringer, at this point the script was still just a "string of discrete events lifted from a colorful biography"(25). When Welles took over the script, he revised over half of it creating the fully developed, alluring Kane from Mankiewicz's flat character. However, once Welles had to deal with budgetary issues, Mankiewicz returned to assist Welles in editing down the script albeit with a lesser creative influence. Carringer concludes this chapter with a discussion of the legal and political controversy surrounding the authorship of Citizen Kane between Welles and Mankiewicz.
     It seems that, despite his best efforts to take sole credit for the screenwriting of Citizen Kane, Orson Welles is very much indebted Herman Mankiewicz for the strength of Citizen Kane's narrative structure. In writing the first two drafts of the script, Mankiewicz provided the film with its prismatic narrative backbone, basic characters, and the bulk of the dialogue. Even his ideas for the beginning and final scenes remained relatively unchanged throughout the editing process. However, Citizen Kane would not have been remembered if it only had a solid script. At this juncture, it was Orson Welles who gave the film the ingenuity it needed to be remembered as a pioneering classic. Welles brought sophisticated humor and stylistic smoothness to the film through various sequences of montage. Most importantly, Welles brought his own personal genius to invigorate the character of Kane as infinitely and inconclusively multi-faceted man through the narrative structure and his acting.

McGinty, Sarah Myers. "Deconstructing Citizen Kane." The English Journal. (Jan 1987). JSTOR. University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 29 Nov. 2009.  .

    In Sarah Myers McGinty's article, she introduces Citizen Kane as a perfect text for explaining post-modern critical theories to high school students. McGinty explains that the film has a superficial, conventional meaning that most high school students will understand upon first viewing as well as a deeper, deconstructive meaning. McGinty shows that the central message of Citizen Kane is inherently deconstructionist as it is caught between two extremes: solving the mystery of Rosebud and a consistent destabilization of the viewer's search for Rosebud through each narrator's viewpoint. McGinty elucidates and analyses the views of Kane held by each of the film's five narrators but determines that each view "is mutually exclusive...[forcing] the viewer...to create his...own reading of the film's indeterminacies" (49). McGinty concludes her article with a short discussion of the use of language in the film.
    The film's narrative structure, according to McGinty, provides no solid core of truth but inherently deconstructs itself as it presents a story of a quest for knowledge and then ultimately refuses the viewer that knowledge. From the opening shot and second to last shot of the Citizen Kane, the film literally runs in circles. Looking at the "No Trespassing" sign on Xanadu's gates at both the beginning and ending of the film, the viewer must accept that Citizen Kane "deconstructs its own...explanations" and because of the plot structure of conflicting and fragmented narratives, meaning can and must be individually created by each of the film's viewers.

Carringer, Robert L. "Orson Welles and Gregg Toland: Their Collaboration on Citizen Kane." Critical Inquiry (Summer, 1982). JSTOR. University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008. .

    In Carringer's article, he divides his main topics into three sections. In the first section, he illuminates the working relationship between Orson Welles and Gregg Toland explaining both of their personalities. Carringer also explains in this section the initial problems Orson Welles had with the script and getting the budget approved by RKO. However, despite RKO's lack of enthusiasm for the project and its budget, Carringer cites that Welles and Toland proceeded to shoot for three days what would be some of the most radical scenes of the film. In the article's second section, Carringer discusses Toland's photographic style and with examples of how he had developed it from previous films. Carringer also introduces the numerous advances in technology that were used in Citizen Kane, many of which were invented by Toland. In the final section of the article, Carringer explains how Citizen Kane was finished without Toland and how despite many nominations for Oscars; Citizen Kane received only one because Hollywood thought it was too experimental. Carringer concludes with a short synopsis of Toland's later projects and a description of how Citizen Kane did and didn't influence future films. 
     Before coming to film Citizen Kane, Gregg Toland had generated a visual style from his prior projects that rebelled against the conventions of Hollywood studio filmmaking. As evidence of this, Toland brought his own equipment to RKO to use in the filming of Citizen Kane because he had specially modified much of his equipment to better accomplish his style and because most major studios did not have his unique camera and lenses. Toland's style in Citizen Kane can be seen as a maturation of his previous work and according to Carringer consists of: "deep focus cinematography, long takes, the avoidance of conventional intercutting through such devices as multi-plane compositions and camera movement, elaborate camera choreography, lighting which produces a high contrast tonality, UFA style expressionism in certain scenes, low angle camera set ups, and an array of striking visual devices such as composite dissolves, extreme deep focus effects and shooting directly into lights" (658). Many of these techniques were not in common practice in Hollywood and were able to be successfully accomplished only because of recent technical advances and Toland's own ingenuity. Technological advances of the time consisted of: new, silent, stronger arc lamps, Eastman Kodak Super XX film stock, which was "four times faster than the previous Super X stock", a new technique of coating the camera lens with magnesium fluoride to improve light transmission, "new low grain stock for release prints", and the self blimped Mitchell BNC camera with a built in noise-dampening device (659-61). Toland's own inventions consisted of: muslin ceilings on sets to allow shooting and lighting from below, a waterhouse stop in place of a regular sliding aperture in the camera lens to remove the halo effect caused by shooting directly into a light source, a diminishing glass to produce the fish eye effect achieved in the shot of the nurse entering Kane's room upon his death, a four part in camera dissolve as a thematic transitional motif, and in camera mattes to achieve what appear to be incredible deep focus shots.

 

Carringer, Robert L. "Rosebud, Dead or Alive: Narrative and Symbolic Structure in Citizen Kane." PMLA (Mar. 1976). JSTOR. University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia. 29 Nov. 2008. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/461506>.

     In his article, Robert Carringer explores how Citizen Kane's modern narrative structure and film's symbolism are inextricably intertwined. Carringer argues against a simple psychological reading of Rosebud as representative of Kane's lost childhood. Carringer explains that the narrative structure of Citizen Kane is in keeping with a "predominant form of organization in modern narrative" in which there are multiple accounts of one subject, none of which are definitive or wholly reliable (185). He warns the viewer that if one were to see Rosebud in this light, one would undercut the entire reasoning behind Welles' multiple point of view narrative. Instead, Carringer urges the viewer to look at the film's symbolic sequences to find elucidations of the conflicting narrative and the film's overarching message.
      According to Carringer, the snow globe that first appears next to Kane's deathbed is Citizen Kane's central symbol and not Rosebud. More representative of Kane than Rosebud the sled, the snow globe represents the whole Kane, which upon his death shatters into the multifaceted opinions of those who loved and hated him. The shattering of the snow globe becomes symbolic of both Thompson and the viewer's quest in the film: to determine if Kane can ever be understood entirely by examining each of the fragments of his life. In this light, the entire film is encompassed in the symbolic meaning of the snow globe. Yet, the symbol of Rosebud also serves an equally important narrative purpose. In one light, Rosebud serves as the oil that greases the wheels of the plot between each narrator's flashback and "a mechanism for...exploring attitudes and points of view" (192). Rosebud as the burning sled on the other hand serves as a anti-conclusion to the film and forces the viewer to see the importance of the film's narrative structure in the search for meaning in Citizen Kane. Rosebud serves as a "red herring" whose hidden identity fuels the plot. Each exploration of Rosebud serves to elucidate the symbol, which provides a semi-conclusive answer on the identity of Kane, the snow globe, and at the same time to "develop a more fundamental meaning...that there are parts of Kane that are knowable and others that will always remain beyond our interpretation" (192).

Leff, Leonard J. "Reading Kane." Film Quarterly (Autumn, 1985). JSTOR. University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Dec. 2008. <http://proxy.library.upenn.edu:2097/stable/1212276?&Search=yes&term=citizen&term=welles&term=orson&term=kane&term=toland&term=gregg&list=hide&searchUri=%2Faction%2FdoAdvancedSearch%3Fq0%3Dcitizen%2Bkane;f0%3Dall;c0%3DAND;q1%3Dorson%2Bwelles;f1%3Dall;c1%3DOR;q2%3Dgregg%2Btoland%2B;f2%3Dall;c2%3DAND;q3%3D;f3%3Dall;wc%3Don;Search%3DSearch;sd%3D;ed%3D;la%3D;jo%3D&item=10&ttl=571&returnArticleService=showArticle>.

    In Leff’s article “Reading Kane,” he explores the past explanations of the relationship between the cinematography and narrative structure in Citizen Kane. Leff also provides the reader with a method in which a viewer can use his reaction to Citizen Kane to establish an understanding of the film even while suffering through Citizen Kane’s “unfulfilled assumptions” and thwarted clear-cut conclusions (20). Leff chooses Thatcher’s flashback his main example and successfully applies his method in great detail. Leff concludes with a discussion of the unsatisfying, anti-climatic, and intellectual roller coaster like qualities of the film's final sequence and how these feelings established in the final shots are even carried over into the credits and its soundtrack.
    Leff suggests in his article that like Thompson in his navigation of life after Kane, the viewer must also take an active role in the creation of meaning in Citizen Kane due to its frustratingly fragmented and contradictory narrative. Leff proposes that the viewer can find meaning by carefully analyzing each shift in point of view in the narrative and by using those points of inconsistency to establish his own understanding. This way of approaching the film seems highly appropriate if one accepts Leff’s interpretation of the one conclusion provided in the film. In the last sequence of the film, the viewer does learn what “Rosebud” is and gains what Leff describes as “a long delayed pleasure that [the viewer] assumed, especially given the film’s lack of convention, would be denied…” (19). And yet, this sense of closure is utterly false and leaves the viewer no closer to truly understanding Kane than at the beginning of the film. Thus, according to Leff, Welles’ chosen ending seems to imply that the viewer should not automatically accept the film’s supplied connections and conclusions as the ultimate understanding of the film, but should try to create meaning through a method such as Leff’s.

Mulvey, Laura. Citizen Kane. London: BFI Publishing, 1992. 9-77.

    In Laura Mulvey’s book Citizen Kane, she adds a European perspective to the film by analyzing it based upon the momentous time in history during which it was made. Mulvey views Citizen Kane as a warning to America of the likelihood of an unfavorable outcome should America continue its isolationist policies into World War II. Mulvey includes her own personal critique on the themes, symbolism and both the visual and narrative style of the film. In addition, Mulvey adds a thorough analysis of the narrative from both a Freudian psychoanalytic and feminist point of view.  Mulvey explores the politics surrounding the making of Citizen Kane including a discussion of the film’s authorship and William Randolph Hearst’s crusade against the film. Mulvey’s short book is not divided into sections or chapters as she eloquently weaves each of these elements of analysis fluidly into her writing. Because of Mulvey’s lack of clearly defined divisions of topic in her book, I have chosen to cite her entire work while only discussing specific points which are relevant to my thesis despite their being spread throughout her book.
     Mulvey discusses the narrative structure of Citizen Kane in great depth describing it as "prismatic," focusing on symbolism, repetition and symmetry to create stability and fluidity. The narrative is structured through five sections of flashbacks, each told from a different character’s point of view, all encompassed by a frame story. The frame story features a reporter, Thompson, who is attempting to put together the pieces of Kane’s private life after his death and does this for the audience and himself through each character's memories of Kane. These flashbacks, while having their own overlaps and discontinuities, comprise the majority of the film. Mulvey points out that each flashback is highly variable and contradictory in its portrayal of Kane and enhances the fragmentation of the narrative. Thus, despite the bulk of information they provide, the characters in Citizen Kane do not give a reliable means of understanding Kane to the viewer. What Mulvey points out that the characters’ inconsistencies make it so that no one view of Kane can be relied on as definitive. Yet, Mulvey believes that because it is our popular cultural tradition, the viewer cannot help but try to judge Kane as either clearly the hero or villain of the story. However, the film’s narrative structure ensures that this goal is consistently thwarted, something not generally done in a classical Hollywood film.

Arnold, Gary. "'Best Years' shows best of Toland; Cinematographer known for deep focus." The Washington Times. Final Edition (21 May 2004). Lexis Nexis Academic. University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008. .

    Arnold's article outlines Gregg Toland's Hollywood career, which comprised most of his life, on the anniversary of his centennial, specifically pointing out the projects in which Toland’s developed style is most visible. Also, Arnold describes Toland’s rise through the Hollywood ranks from a mere office boy to a renowned cinematographer and explains the deep focus style that Toland is so famous for mastering.

Even before his work on Citizen Kane, Gregg Toland had spent nine years as a cinematographer, building up his own experience, crew and cache of equipment that he knew he could best use to achieve his deep focus style. Toland’s deep focus style kept everything in the shot in sharp focus with actors balanced geometrically but able to move throughout the planes. In the shooting of Citizen Kane, Toland used new technology in creative ways and reinvented established technology for his distinct purposes. The customized equipment Toland used in the shooting of Citizen Kane consisted of a Mitchell BNC camera, Eastman Kodak Super XX stock, and a 24mm wide-angle lens. Toland chose the Mitchell BNC camera because it was more lightweight than most cameras used during the 1930’s, allowing him a greater freedom of movement in his shots. The 24mm wide-angle lens Toland used he had restructured for aperture reductions which enabled him to carefully customize the f-stop. Finally, Toland used broadside arcs, invented to increase the light available for color exposure, for a different purpose: to sharpen the focus in the furthest and darkest planes of his black and white shots in Citizen Kane.

Harpole, Charles H. " Ideological and Technological Determinism in Deep Space Cinema Images: Issues in Ideology, Technological History and Aesthetics."Film Quarterly (Spring, 1980). JSTOR. University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia. 27 Nov. 2008. .
      In this article, Charles Harpole outlines two conflicting critical views of the purpose of deep focus cinematography, which arose after 1940. He explains that according to the Bazinian theory, deep space illusions are created in films to provide realism to images and are technologically important because they require so much in the way of devices to produce them successfully. He describes Comolli’s opposing materialist viewpoint as such: deep space effects are important in film because they “indicate the extent to which an ideological way of representation is embedded in a mass medium.” Harpole elaborates that while other critics have described a lack of deep focus cinematography between 1925 and 1940 due to the limitations caused by sound technology, panochromatic film stock and the increase in narrative focus, he believes that deep space cinema composition has always been present, just in varied forms. He outlines stages of the development of deep focus cinematography. Harpole states that between 1895 and 1914, films lacked zoning and artificial lighting, and that many films focused on much “exterior shooting, high detail, and hard focus” to create a great depth of field. In the second time period, from 1914-1919, Harpole recognizes a “deployment of depth of space in simultaneous interior and exterior spaces, in extensive and complex linear perspective and in narratively important to and fro movement of people through spaces.” From 1919-1929 films focused on refining the mise en scene and used some zoned lighting, back and forth movement, and a mixture of shots, which greatly varied in their depth of field and focus. Between 1929-1940, cinematographers made use of complex lighting zones and began to have multiple planes of interaction within the space of a single frame. This period also witnessed greater camera movement, which explored and revealed increasing depth of space. Thus, Harpole concludes that Citizen Kane was not revolutionary in its style, but rather was the result of a long evolution of deep space cinematography beginning in the late 1800’s.
     Harpole explores two different subjects in his article both of which are highly relevant to my thesis: the effect of depth of space cinematography on the filmic images and Gregg Toland’s past cinematographic experience. Harpole explains that the wide-angle lens used to convey depth of space causes images to appear stretched, which places an emphasis on proportional and linear perspective, which is sometimes used to create juxtaposition and irony within a frame. However, when the wide-angle lens is used with uniform focus, emphasis is removed from any one single figure and the viewer is subconsciously instructed view the mise en scene as a single important image. Citizen Kane utilizes both types of shots for those purposes. Secondly, according to Harpole, Toland worked on many films that explored shots with great depth of field between 1929 and 1941, the period of time in which most critics believe there to be an absence of depth in cinematograhy. Harpole recognizes Toland’s shooting in Bulldog Drummond, to shows the beginnings of the progression towards the refinement of deep focus images in Citizen Kane. Harpole cites that Toland worked on twelve films during this time all of which he considers stylistic forerunners of Citizen Kane. Thus, it seems that the deep focus style of Citizen Kane was gradually explored and developed by Toland throughout his prior projects.

The chapter entitled “Fighting Words” discusses Charlie Chaplin’s intentions for his film “The Great Dictator”.  The film was Chaplin’s first sound film.  Not wanting to alter his classic silent ‘tramp’ character, Charlie found the opportunity in this entry into sound to preserve his beloved character and talk to his audience for the first time.  “As Hitler I could harangue the crowds in jargon and talk all I wanted to,” wrote Charlie in his autobiography.  “A Hitler story was an opportunity for burlesque and pantomime.” Charlie exposed Hynkel (representing Hitler) in exactly this fashion.  For most of the film, Hynkel’s words amount to nothing more than gibberish.  When the dictator speaks intelligibly, the audience still senses malevolent babble. 

The chapter supports the thesis as it illustrates Chaplin’s intentions to mock Hitler his film.  It also demonstrates the striking contrast between the dictator and the barber.  The dictator appears foolish as a result of Chaplin’s work while the barber remains relatively silent and pure (until the end).  After developing these distinct characters for two hours, Charlie utilizes his first sound film to let out his own voice in the final speech, bashing hate and calling the soldiers to unite in the name of democracy and peace. 

Mast, Gerald. The Comic Mind: Comedy and the Movies. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1973.

In the Chapter “Chaplin: Sound Films”, Gerald Mast analyses a few of the comedic moments in Chaplin’s “The Great Dictator” and how this comedy effectively criticizes the Nazi regime.  Mast compares Hynkel’s globe scene (see tag on World War II and the American Film) to the scene immediately following of the barber shaving a customer.  Mast discusses the ridiculous slapstick nature of the globe scene and the fast yet precise nature of the shaving scene and illustrates the contrast between the dictators fixation on world domination to the barbers human work.  Mast also refers to Hynkel’s ludicrous speeches in which the dictator flails his arms about wildly and barks so vehemently the microphone cracks and seems to melt in his hands.  During these speeches, Hynkel pauses intermittently to pour water down his  blazing throat and down his pants. 

This chapter directly supports the thesis as it demonstrates how Chaplin utilizes slapstick comedy to attack the Nazi regime.  The succession of the globe scene to the shaving scene demonstrates how the barber succeeds where the dictator fails. Additionally, the contrast is made more stiking as the barber succeeds in the shave using a sharp blade, while the dictator's dellusion of grandeur comes to a crashing halt as the globe of the world explodes in his face.  Mast also conjectures the Hynkel’s “wet” speech scene reveals how Hynkel’s private parts are burning as much as his throat suggesting that the Nazi propaganda has more to do with sexual energy and gibberish than with meaningful ideas. 

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.

In this book, D.S. Potter and D.J. Mattingly explore the depth of Roman society as they focused on family structure, gender identity, food supply, religion, and entertainment.  The most important part for us, is the chapter "Amusing the Masses" where our authors focus on the Circus Maximus.  

Under Trajan, "the biggest transformation" of the Circus took place.  It went from a seating capacity of 150,000 people to 350,000 people and with "the racetrack and seating [areas], the structure was six hundred meters long with an average width of over one hundred meters."  Potter and Mattingly inform us that "a maximum of twelve charioteers could compete in any one race."  The races just reached three miles in distance as the "racers travleled counter-clockwise...circling seven times around the spina."  Being that the chariot races were very popular, "crashes were common, especially at the start of a race and on the turns" because riders "jostled for positions."  

For my question, "How can one scene effect a studio?" we can look at this description of the Circus Maximus and apply it to the actual footage from Ben-Hur (1925).  Audiences of the time wanted to see the 'real' thing, and studios, therefore tried to create it for them.  With this, history would be a good place to start for MGM.  

For any studio, committing the amount of money that would create an arena that could seat 350,000 people with the length of over six football fields and the width of one football field is crazy.  But, as noted in this bibliography, the scale for the film was nearly 1:1.  With all of the resources necessary to create an atmosphere that would accurately portray history, it is pretty easy to see that this one scene alone--the chariot race--could have a huge impact on MGM.  And of course, with all of the crashes, money, and time spent, MGM was definitely effected.

In this article Gordan Thomas talks about the adaptation of Lew Wallace's book, Ben-Hur, to the big screen.  It is written with the 1959 version in mind but accurately discusses the stage play and the 1925 version of the film. 

Thomas starts off by explaining the author and his novel.  With this, he quickly points out that Wallace seems to underwrite "a mythic set-piece of the film"--the chariot race.  He then moves on to talk about how the stage play "put all of its eggs in the basket of massive spectacle."  He states that the stage play used new technology to create the chariot race with "as many as five chariots pulled by real horses galloped upon a giant treadmill that, to complete the illusion...backed by a massive, revolving scenic backdrop.”  With this, the audience accustomed to Ben-Hur would have to see a chariot race that "looks real enough to kill one or two of the charioteers."  Thomas also suggests that placing a rumor in the press that a few stuntmen died would be beneficial too--something that sounds eerily similar to what Niblo told the press about Novarro.  So in the 1925 film, the scale was nearly 1:1 as grand columns and a swollen multi-tiered stadium created the set.  Thomas also tells the reader that Karl Struss, the cinematographer who worked on Ben-Hur, was a follower of Alfred Stieglitz in the Photo Secession.

In answering the question of "How one scene can effect a studio?" here we see that numerous attributes from the 1925 chariot race scene were carried over into the 1959 release.  The film, as noted before a success, capitalized on the grandness associated with the chariot race.  William Weyler, the director of the '59 remake, worked with Niblo on the original and implemented the tactics.  One shot was even duplicated, and as they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.  So the chariot race scene can then be said to have had a huge effect on MGM's success into the mid 1900s.  Moreover, the story is solid--it's being used by movies like Braveheart and Gladiator--but "it's a shame the rest of the film never lifts, at best, from the level of the well made and tasteful,” according to Thomas.  And Thomas' dismay with the rest of the film, added to the success of the film overall, makes it acceptable to say that the chariot race scene effected the success of the movie, and therefore MGM.

Anne Lancashire "The Phantom Menace: Repetition, Variation, Integration". Film Criticism. . FindArticles.com. 29 Nov. 2008. http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_hb3076/is_3_24/ai_n28790171

This article has Anne Lancashire paying serious attention to the film Star Wars Episode I:  The Phantom Menace.

Lancashire starts her comparison of this installment of the Star Wars saga to Ben-Hur on page 7.  She claims that the storyline of Phantom Menace follows very closely with Ben-Hur suggesting that Star Wars is "a film about a hero whose loss of his mother (and sister), in a clash with the (Roman) Empire, turns [the hero] to despair and revenge, until miraculously Christ's crucifixion changes his anguish to peace through love."  Moreover, Lancashire mentions slavery as she compares Anakin to Judah. 

Most importantly, "the comparable allusion in The Phantom Menace is to...Ben-Hur" as Lancashire tells us that our film is the source for the podrace Anakin partakes in against Sebulba.  Too she claims that this idea is a "much noted" conclusion.  Within this thought arises again, the notion of slavery and the concept of losing one's family.  Anakin is set up as someone who will seek revenge because of family losses and this follows along with Ben-Hur who loses his family after being arrested.  But to sum this paragraph, Episode I is most remembered for its podrace scene.  It was a major scene and even had a videogame made from it.

So for my question, "How can one scene effect a studio?" we can see an even further projection of the chariot race to other studios, not just MGM.  As mentioned, the podrace is a definite play on the chariot race from Ben-Hur.  And other movies, not just Star Wars, like Grease and the Little Rascals to name a few, also take bits from the horse drawn chariots. 

As one scene gains recognition for being the staple that held together an epic film like Ben-Hur, it would be beneficial for any studio looking to shoot a similar action sequence to take some of the ideas and/or parts that helped make the chariot race a success, and implement them into their film.

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.

Gilman, Sander. "Is Life Beautiful? Can the Shoah Be Funny? Some Thoughts on Recent and Older Films". Critical Inquiry, Vol. 26 No. 2. (Winter, 2000): 279-30.

There has been a good deal of debate regarding how filmmakers and other artists should represent the Shoah (Holocaust).  In this article, Sander Gilman discusses how the Shoah has been represented in the arts, focusing on comedy and film.  Charlie Chaplin’s film “The Great Dictator” uses comedy to attack the Third Reich and to represent the beginnings of the Shoah.  Gilman asks whether the terror during of the Shoah and the Nazi regime can be understood through such comedy.  “The Great Dictator” was one of the first comic films to deal with the Nazis and their treatment of the Jews.  While the film touches on the initial stages of the Shoah, it was made before the real horror and genocide began; the satire’s main target is the Nazi Regime.  Gilman asserts that laughter is appropriate in films like “The Great Dictator” that deal with the Nazi regime as the enemy, leaving out the horrors of the Holocaust.  In effect, this targeted treatment of the regime assures the viewer that they are stronger than the Nazis. 

This article agrees with the thesis as it argues that the use of comedy in “The Great Dictator” effectively undermines the Nazi regime.  More than that, Gilman addresses one of the principal criticisms of the film, namely the incompatibility of laughter and the events of the Holocaust.  Critics often claim that the use of comedy in the film lessens the horrors that took place.  Viewing “The Great Dictator” today may give us this impression.  However, as Gilman discusses, Chaplin was ignorant of the extent of Nazi terror simply because the film was produced pre-Shoah. Indeed, post World War II, Chaplin asserted that “had I known of the actual horrors of the German concentration camps, I could not have made The Great Dictator; I could not have made fun of the homicidal insanity of the Nazis.” In the historical context of the film’s production, the film accurately and effectively utilizes laughter to challenge the Third Reich. 

Corliss, Mary.  “Alfred Hitchcock: Behind the Silhouette.”  MoMA, Vol. 2, No. 5 (Jun., 1999), pp. 12-14.

In her brief introductory note to a MoMA exhibition, Mary Corliss departs from the discussion of Hitchcock’s films to explore the nature of the man behind their creation.  Contradictory to the chaotic, unstructured world often portrayed in his paradigmatic films, Alfred Hitchcock was much more a creature of habit and order than of whim and passion.  Corliss explains that Hitchcock thrived in a familiar environment, for it was from this atmosphere of comfortable stability which the brilliance of his films emerged. 

The degree of control Hitchcock exercised was unusual in the film industry, which was often a collaboration among multiple creative minds, including directors, actors, technicians, studio heads, and many others.  He regarded his own preparation as the most important part of the process – his moments of inspiration, imagination, and the capturing of these gems through extensive and deliberate planning were paramount to cinematic success.  In fact, Hitchcock even claimed to be bored by the actual shooting, for it was apparently dull in comparison to the elaborate grand design he had formulated in his head. 

Through his films, Hitchcock strived to explore the most deep-seated fears of humanity, and depict them cinematically with electric energy.  He was fully aware of the distinctive feeling of pleasure associated with secondhand fear as opposed to real-life panic, and exploited this adrenaline craze to contribute to the success of his films.  Similarly, despite his reference to actors as mere ‘cattle’ carrying out his creative designs, Hitchcock employed stars to ensure the success of his films.  Famous icons such as Cary Grant, Ingrid Bergman, and Grace Kelly were frequent members of the cast in Hitchcock films, and thus an important aspect of his success.  Rebecca is no exception, featuring Laurence Oliver and Joan Fontaine as Maxim deWinter and his young bride.  Combining Hitchcock’s talent and prestige and the popularity of the lead stars, Rebecca was bound to be a success among all audiences, not only female.

Harbord, Janet.  “Between Identification and Desire: Rereading ‘Rebecca.’”  Feminist Review, No. 53, Speaking Out: Researching and Representing Women (Summer, 1996), pp. 95-107.

Janet Harbord begins her discussion by introducing the tangents between psychoanalysis and the romance novel – though they seem to be totally separate disciplines, both engage a dialogue between past and present, defining time as an inevitable sign of progress.  The appeal of repetition arises due to the comfort inherent in familiar patterns, bringing to the forefront the fundamental human tendency towards stability, sought after both in psychoanalysis and romance narratives.  Furthermore, that which is forbidden also appeals to us equally as much, though often more fleetingly so, and it is upon this basis that Harbord suggests the implications of homosexual desire in Rebecca.

Interestingly, it is the very normative, repressive structure so often found in romance narratives that encourages the breaking of such boundaries through textual exploration of possibilities apart from the conventional.  Thus, quite opposite from the championing of the traditional heterosexual household, romance narratives such as Rebecca in fact often subtly subvert accepted cultural values by implying the option of other alternatives – in this case, lesbian desire.  Such storylines appeal primarily to women for the simple reason of reflexivity, for as women question their own societal and sexual roles, literature and film provide a useful avenue for self-reflection and relief in resolving the conundrum of individual identity.

Distinctive visual symbolism in Rebecca enhances the exploration of issues such as class, gender, ethnicity, and sexuality.  Rebecca herself, an eerily absent center of desire throughout the film, serves as the ghostly epitome of the white, upper class married woman, yet simultaneously represents raw sexuality and hence evokes lesbian desire.  The symbolic emphasis on her clothing, for example, introduces the fundamental dichotomy between the exterior façade as opposed to the true nature of an individual.  Ultimately, Rebecca’s appeal is her transgression of traditionally delineated boundaries, as she crosses lines of class, gender, and, most centrally, female sexuality.

Edwards, Kyle Dawson.  “Brand-Name Literature: Film Adaptation and Seiznick International Pictures’ ‘Rebecca’ (1940).”  Cinema Journal, Vol. 45, No. 3 (Spring, 2006), pp. 32-38. 

Nearly one third of films from the Classical Hollywood era were novel adaptations.  The film adaptation of Rebecca demonstrates how the flourishing of novels on screen results from a tangled combination of literary, commercial, historical, artistic, and social factors.  Filmmaking is by nature a collaborative art form, and the particular quality of the novel adaptation perfectly demonstrates the extent to which these multiple sources of inspiration can manifest themselves in film.

Adapting famous novels such as Rebecca to the silver screen has numerous advantages: the story can be streamlined with the assumption that much of the audience is familiar with the plot, an audience faithful to the novel can be assumed to be “built-in,” and the film is lent a certain degree of literary prestige.  When adapting a novel to film, however, a great difficulty is deciding what aspects of the literature to keep and emphasize, as literary subtleties treasured by the reader often fail to translate well to film.  

It is important for studios to profit both financially and symbolically, which is achieved by establishing a unique brand that allows the studio to cultivate relationships with prospective and current employees, industrial counterparts, and movie-going audiences. In constructing a brand, the first step for a studio is to identify and characterize the targeted audiences and adapt the quality of the film as well as the publicity to appeal to these intended spectators.  Seiznick International Pictures, the studio that made Rebecca, was a small studio that could not rely on the vertical integration employed by the larger studios.  Rather, they had to depend on theater chains which were often owned by competitors to spread and display Seiznick films.  Due to this disadvantage, Seiznick directed enormous energy at crafting a distinctive brand concept, one which would be stable and positive regardless of the success of individual films.  Thus, they introduced more commercial tie-ins than any other studio, marketing expensive products like furniture, wallpaper, clothing, and cosmetics.  The “Rebecca line” of makeup, for example was advertised as lending the ability to transform any woman into the beautiful, mysterious seductress, Rebecca herself. 

Seiznick International Pictures had met with great success for Gone With the Wind, and so focused on emphasizing the continuity between that film and Rebecca in order to convince audiences of the consistently high level of quality.  The studio also had to comply with the Production Code, forced to make adjustments to the plot such as portraying Maxim’s murder of Rebecca as an accident.  Thus, based on the crafting of a particular brand-concept, clever marketing toward a specific demographic, and compliance with the Production Code, Rebecca was a wild success for Seiznick International Pictures.

Wheatley, Kim.  “Gender Politics and the Gothic in Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘Rebecca.’”  Gothic Studies, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Nov., 2002), pp. 133-145.

Rebecca represents a new strain of Gothic romance in which the tortured heroine falls in love with a man who plays a dual role in regard to the heroine: he not only offers her relief from danger, but is also a major source of unresolved tension and confusion for her.  Not only does Mr. deWinter play a pivotal role, then, but Manderley itself is undeniably a significant “character.”  Furthermore, Rebecca is made all the more powerful by her very absence.  Through haunting music, symbolism attached to her material possessions, and details such as the camera angle in the boathouse confession scene, Rebecca’s ghostly presence is solidified. 

Even greater emphasis on Rebecca’s omnipresence emerges through the apparent continued loyalty of Jasper the dog, and also through Mrs. Danvers’ unwavering devotion to Rebecca and subsequent disdain for the young wife.  Mrs. Danvers even goes so far as to articulate her musings as to whether the dead continue to observe and dwell among the living.  This voyeuristic pervasion of the plot lends Rebecca an ominous, haunting power and lingering influence. 

However, Wheatley presents the alternative ‘containment thesis’ that Rebecca’s relative power and influence is held at bay and even diminishes over the course of the film.  Her containment is achieved through Maxim’s patriarchal authority, most poignantly evident in his young wife’s reaction during the confession scene, during which she is completely vulnerable and it is revealed that all she desires is his love, relinquishing all hints of independence.  This disproportionate male power held by Maxim is echoed in two other prominent male characters, Frank Crawley and Jack Favell, who provide counterpoints to Maxim’s harsh personality yet exercise similar control over the young heroine.  Even further establishing the trend of patriarchy, only men are present during one of the final scenes of the film, in Dr. Baker’s office, defining negotiations and relationships between men of the utmost importance.  Thus, despite Rebecca’s haunting influence over the course of the film, Wheatley suggests that it is ultimately patriarchy which triumphs in the end.

Berenstein, Rhona J.  “Adaptation, Censorship, and Audiences of Questionable Type: Lesbian Sightings in ‘Rebecca’ (1940) and ‘The Uninvited’ (1944).”  Cinema Journal, Vol. 37, No. 3 (Spring, 1998), pp. 16-37.

In her article, Bernstein addresses the taboo subject of lesbian desire as it is subtly depicted in Rebecca.  Even up until the modern day, she explains, societal recognition of lesbians is consistently and unfairly suppressed.  Rebecca deWinter serves as an undeniable object of lesbian desire, at a time when female homosexuality was even less societally accepted and understood than it is today.  Even though she is dead and unseen, Rebecca is arguably the most powerful presence of the film, not to mention its namesake. 

The young heroine feels the wrath of Rebecca most acutely, and is constantly reminded of her omnipresence through her physical possessions and the undying loyalty, and possibly sexual desire, of Mrs. Danvers toward Rebecca.  Introducing this subversive suggestion of lesbian desire was risky during the time when Rebecca was made, and it violated specific mandates of the production code.  In the early stages of the film’s production, Joseph Breen, the head of the Production Code Administration (PCA) at the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA) wrote a series of letters to David O. Seiznick indicating his objections to Rebecca.  The most urgent objection, and thus the aspect of the film which was most readily changed, was that Maxim is left unpunished by the law despite murdering his wife – accordingly, in the film version, the incident is depicted as accidental.  Next, Breen objects to the implication of Rebecca as a sexual pervert, and finally to the illicit relationship between Jack Favell and Rebecca, which is suggested to result in an illegitimate child.  The second objection subtly implies but fails to explicitly mention the film’s treatment of lesbian desire, though Breen’s intentions are clear. 

Thus, not only is the depiction of lesbian desire within the film understated, but even the censorship evaluation dances around the issue.  The depiction of lesbian leanings in a mysterious, frightening film like Rebecca is an interesting statement, as the ghostly quality of Rebecca pervading the narrative is echoed by the lesbian’s unseen yet acutely recognized presence within society.

Tay, Sharon Lin.  “Constructing a Feminist Cinematic Ideology: The Gothic Woman’s Film Beyond Psychoanalysis.”  Women, Vol. 14, No. 3 (Winter, 2003), pp. 263-280.

Distinctive historical and social factors provided for the emergence of the Gothic woman’s film in Hollywood during the 1940’s.  The Second World War elicited an upheaval in the American social hierarchy, necessitating that women enter the work force and thus empowering them to an unprecedented degree.  Also, the movie-going audience changed, with a larger proportion of females in the audience than men, since the majority of them were abroad fighting.  Finally, the cinema adjusted to address this new predominantly feminine audience, introducing female protagonists and feminine plotlines.  Heterosexual marital fulfillment often remained the ultimate goal in these films, with the rejection or failure to comply with this societal standard usually resulting in the heroine’s madness or death. 

When comparing Gothic films from the early 1940’s with those made later in the decade, the heroines of the earlier films harbor unwarranted suspicions of their husbands, while in the later films another male character is introduced who is thoroughly benevolent and succeeds in rescuing the heroine.  Still, the Gothic woman’s film differs from the conventional films preceding it because, for the first time, the heroine puts up some degree of resistance to compliance with traditional societal demands.  Indeed, the primary focus shifts from purely romance to violence and mystery, qualities shared with other genres such as film noir and horror.  This transgression by the plotline and the heroine of conventional expectations destabilizes and exposes gaps in the normative cinema structure, and the ambiguity created by this uncertainty is the source of suspense. 

Epitomizing the transgression beyond traditional boundaries is Rebecca, who represents the exact opposite of the young wife’s demure, conventional femininity.  Symbolized by the turbulent, crashing waves of the sea, Rebecca’s uncontrollable, unpredictable power creates a constant source of tension and disruption throughout the film.  Whenever the possibility of calm or resolution arises, a monogrammed belonging of Rebecca’s may appear, thrusting the plot back into uncertainty and chaos.  This atmosphere of paranoia and fear is highly characteristic of the Gothic woman’s film, and the transgression of traditionally feminine societal norms formed a basis for the eventual development of the feminist movement.

Light, Alison.  “‘Returning to Manderley’: Romance Fiction, Female Sexuality and Class.”  Feminist Review, No. 16 (Summer, 1984), pp. 7-25.

Light’s analysis begins with a plot summary of DuMaurier’s iconic novel, highlighting the role of the late Rebecca as the driving force behind the young heroine’s mounting fear and paranoia.  She addresses the criticism often plaguing romance narratives as simplistic and stereotyping, fostering an oppressive ideology towards women that unfailingly defines the ultimate goal to be heterosexual marriage.  Feminists argue that such a plotline is insulting to women, essentially suggesting that they belong in a socially and sexually subordinate place. 

Rebecca, however, is a slightly modified case, as it encompasses both the genres of romance and crime.  Rebecca herself is central to the development of both these genres, with her role as both the iconic epitome of feminine prowess, and the victim of murder which lends the narrative its elements of mystery and horror.  Accordingly, Light insists that the absolute core of both these components is Manderley itself, the zenith of Rebecca’s vicious, seductive femininity and yet also the place where the tenderness of true love manifests itself. 

The physical symbolism of the estate likewise functions to establish the harsh binary opposition between Rebecca and the young new wife.  Epitomized by the tame flower garden versus the wild, relentless torrent of the sea, the virginal young girl could not be a more polar opposite from the raw sensual power wielded by Rebecca even after her death.  Such a dichotomy appeals unfailingly to women because it is a struggle all women confront in their lifetimes, the pursuit of the feminine ideal, and the ardent desire for male approval.  Rebecca’s distinctive ability to address the age-old question of femininity and the struggle of women to achieve it is a testament to a time of transition both historically and fictionally.  In essence, despite criticism of the romance genre as trite and demeaning, it in fact deserves recognition in history as a springboard of popular discussion of the societal and sexual role of women.

Hingham, Charles.  “Hitchcock’s World.”  Film Quarterly, Vol. 16, No. 2, With a Special Survey: Our Resources for Film Scholarship (Winter, 1962-63), pp. 3-16.

Despite hackneyed declarations of Alfred Hitchcock as one of the premier film directors of all time, Charles Hingham examines the validity of these sweeping claims, particularly in regard to Hitchcock’s ability, or lack thereof, to convincingly portray human passion.  Hingham asserts that, while Hitchcock is a master at fabricating suspense and fear, he proves unable to depict either intellectual or physical passion.  He is the master of exploiting the audience’s empathies, vulnerabilities, and repressed desires, yet often fails to effectively render the depth of human emotion on screen. 

To Hitchcock, actors were merely tools which he could manipulate within the greater sphere of his cinematic vision.  Enjoying total control over the resources available to him and, arguably, his audience, Hingham declares that film was a sort of game for Hitchcock, an arena for his free manipulation.  Hitchcock’s films, he argues, are highly stylized and unrealistic, almost abstract in a way, and while they do not lack calculated, educated technique, the ultimate effect is more theatrical than convincing. 

Rebecca is uncharacteristic of Hitchcock’s style with its neat, feminine storyline, and Hingham declares that the twisted infatuation of Mrs. Danvers with Rebecca is the sole element retaining the characteristically disturbing, ambiguous Hitchcockian quality.  For Hitchcock, the plot of a film was vastly subordinate to the stylistic and visual ways in which this framework could be exploited to affect the audience.

Salt, Barry.  “Film Style and Technology in the Forties.”  Film Quarterly, Vol. 31, No. 1 (Autumn, 1977), pp. 46-57.

Barry’s discussion of film technology includes abundant technical details regarding specific advances made in each category of filmmaking during the 1940’s.  He begins by explaining that the most widely-used 35mm camera in the 1940’s was the Cunningham Combat Camera, but after World War II, 16mm footage was able to be converted to 35mm use.  The first 16mm camera able to record synchronous sound filming was the Berndt-Maurer pro camera, but it was replaced in 1942 by the Auricon single sound system camera which is still used today.  A major trend beginning in 1939 is that toward longer takes, with a measured increase in average shot length among films progressively later in the forties.  The ability to produce longer takes arose partially due to increased camera mobility, as structures such as crab collies allowed for ease and freedom of camera movement.

Modern zoom lenses arose in the late forties, and the use of new coated lenses allowed for increased clarity in “against the light” filming situations such as the projector scene in Rebecca between Maxim and his young wife, their white faces cast starkly against a dense black background.  Also, angle-reverse angle cutting first proliferated in the forties.  Hitchcock in particular is known for using point of view shots, such as the eyeline match, more than other directors, and these make up a large proportion of his angle-reverse angle shots.  This technique was also an effective way of ensuring audience involvement, for it allows the spectator to feel as if he is actually present and viewing the scene through the eyes of a character.  Further, the angle-reverse angle shot is effective because much more emotion can be detected on an actor’s entire face than from his profile alone, so the intricacies of acting are more acutely communicated using angle-reverse angle.  Finally, this filming technique provides the audience with changing views and thus sufficient visual stimulation to maintain their interest. 

A final innovation of the forties was in the area of lighting.  In 1940, small spotlights were introduced with photoflood bulbs.  Interestingly, the most notable increase in costs for studios based on lighting was the higher wages required to pay the additional electricians on staff.  The forties were also a period of increased on-location shooting.  However, there were no major advances in optical effects or sound recording during the forties.  The increased average shot length is the most notable trend in film technique that occurred during that decade, a technique which was used frequently by Hitchcock and contributes to both audience engagement and direct acknowledgement of the feminine perspective in Rebecca.

Waldman, Diane.  “‘At Last I Can Tell It to Someone!’: Feminine Point of View and Subjectivity in the Gothic Romance Film of the 1940’s.”  Cinema Journal, Vol. 23, No. 2 (Winter, 1984), pp. 29-40.

During the period from 1940-48, Gothic romance films were produced by virtually every major Hollywood studio, using stars and famous directors.  Women were a major target of the film industry, as this period historically constituted a transition to increased sexual freedom, the introduction of birth control, and the possibility of a life separate from domesticity.  It was this role definition which served as the societal precondition which allowed for the success of the Gothic romance films of the 1940’s. 

A paradigmatic feature of Gothic film is deliberate ambiguity regarding the interpretation of happenings by the characters.  This is a hallmark quality shared by horror and fantasy films, however, in the Gothic variety, this hesitation is often experienced by a female protagonist, and her ultimate decision is thus a commentary on the feminine experience.  The Gothic romance film is therefore the first major example of the growing perception and portrayal of the female perspective, especially regarding men.  Constructing the common thematical framework of the heroine’s isolation, women’s restriction to the domestic sphere is often condemned, yet the heroine is still persistently rescued by some form of authoritative man.  The typical 1940’s American family was semi-patriarchal, encompassing a nominal decrease in the husband’s authoritarian power, yet retaining the sexual division of labor, which translates seamlessly to the feminine portrayals in Gothic films.  Hence, it is obvious that Gothic romance films mark the beginning of the transition to more widespread acknowledgement and understanding of the female position in society, but the genre by no means grants women the credibility and freedom they ultimately deserve.

Jacobs, Lewis. “World War II and the American Film.” Cinema Journal 7 (Winter, 1967-1968): 1-21. 

In Juilian Stringer's book she talks about how big-budget movies target the mass audience.  She addresses the production and exhibition stages of blockbusters and her arguments span from film's history to movies like Star Wars and Titanic.

For our case, she examines and tells the reader about the "bigness of Ben-Hur" by showing us a photograph of the chariot race's set on page 4.  Moreover she quotes a 1926 critic for "Life" who says that he had to consult a thesauras when searching for words to describe Ben-Hur:  "In casting about for adjectives with which to describe the long-awaited movie version of Ben-Hur...I find myself limited to that section of the thesauras which offers synonyms of 'big'."  Undoubetdly, Stringer feels that the 1925 version of Ben-Hur was a huge success at what it tried to accomplish, that being a story that didn't "stimulate the imagination" but instead "gorge[d] the senses." 

In relation to my question as to "How one scene can effect a studio?" we can turn to the part where she tells the reader that movies like Gladiator, the 1959 version of Ben-Hur (a MGM release), and Spartacus are all "hugely indebted to the 1925 version of Ben-Hur" because of its special effects and magnitude.  Furthermore, the movie was one which set a number of precedents as noted in the St. James Encyclopedia citation and was a success.  Though not directly mentioning the chariot race scene, her book puts forth another quotation which could be used to analyze my question which states, "'[it is] a source of wonder as to how photographs of such drama could have been taken...'."  So the chariot race, with all of its extras, and horses, and architecture, and expenditures, and difficulties, definitely effected the audience in this manner and successfully gorged the senses in creating a huge scene which is a remembered piece of Hollywood's history.

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."

In the Chapter entitled "The Movies and World War II", Gianos discusses the strong isolationist sentiments in the United States during the late 1930’s. With the Great Depression and the horrific images World War I still in clear hindsight, the United States was not ready to enter a new war, especially one that was thousands of miles away.  College students and American families vehemently formed committees to stay out of the latest world conflict.  The film industry adopted similar antiwar sentiments.  In particular, Hollywood feared that films depicting the conflicts abroad might offend German and Italian audiences.  Joseph Breen, head of the production code, helped to dispel filmmakers’ interest in the European tensions. Charlie Chaplin was among the first to criticize the Nazis on film in The Great Dictator, in which Chaplin fervently attacks the fascist regime.  

This chapter is relevant to the thesis as it depicts how the isolationist feelings affected the film industry in the prewar United States.  The article illustrates Chaplin’s bold treatment of Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany (through the veils of Adenoid Hynkel and Tomania).  The final scene of the film in which the barber makes a speech to “fight for liberty” clearly demonstrates Chaplin’s call to end the United States isolationism to fight Hitler’s fascist regime.  For the time, Chaplin is unconventionally courageous.  

Salt, Barry. "Film Style and Technology in the Forties."Film Quarterly Vol. 31, No. 1 (Autumn, 1977). JSTOR. University of Pennsylvania Library, Philadelphia, 27 Nov. 2008. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/1211826>.

Rohmer, Eric, and Claude Chabrol. Hitchcock: The First Forty-Four Films. Translated By Stanley Hochman. New Yrok: Frederick Ungar   Publishing Co., 1979.

Chapter: “The American Period (1): With Selznick”

     This chapter is about Hitchcock’s first years in America and the films he made. It follows his career through his first American films: Rebecca, Foreign Correspondent, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Suspicion, Saboteur, Shadow of a Doubt and Lifeboat. It then follows Hitchcock back to Great Britain, where he made two short propaganda films for the Ministry of Information: Aventure Malagache and Bon Voyage. It then goes on to discuss Spellbound, Notorious, Under the Capricorn and The Paradine Case. Rohmer and Chabrol outline the plot summary for each film and put them in historical, political and cultural context. Rohmer and Chabrol teach about the progression between films and how Hitchcock grew and evolved as a director.

      Rohmer and Chabrol’s view on the dualities in the film are that they serve the purpose of accentuating the film’s “documentary quality.” The duos make the scenario seem all the more believable. This leads to an eerie feeling that if it this kind of horror could happen in the small quaint town of Santa Rosa, to an innocent family like the Newton’s, then couldn’t it happen to anyone? More than just pointing out the similarities between the two Charlie’s, Rohmer and Chabrol reflect on all of the duos in the film. They begin by introducing the four that Francois Truffaut believe to be the most important: the identical scenes that introduce the two Charlies, Uncle Charlie sending the Newton’s a telegraph while young Charlie was going to send him one, the two murder suspects and the death of both suspects by dangerous vehicles. They continue by listing the pairs of scenes: from two meal scenes, two visits by the detectives and two scenes in the garage. They conclude their list with the proclamation of the matching shots and camera angles Hitchcock used for the Charlies. Unfortunately, Rohmer and Chabrol draw no conclusions as to the purpose of the dualities other than the fact the duo’s exist and serve a documentary-style forming purpose.

      The idea of incorporating the dualities to make the film seem more realistic and thus eerier is almost a conclusion to the ideas the rest of the sources I found. For instance, you can apply the idea of how easy it would be for younger Charlie to become a murder to this by saying how easy it would be for anyone to become a murderer. Maybe we all have some evil duo who completes us, and upon meeting them, these villainous urges could surface.

Hare, William. Hitchcock and the Methods of Suspense. Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarlan & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2007.

Chapter: “Tranquility in the Midst of War”

     The chapter begins with an introduction to Hitchock’s first American films, focusing on Foreign Correspondent, Sabateur and Suspicion. He then delves into an incredible amount of detail on Shadow of a Doubt. Hare places the film in historical context, relating it to World War II. He goes on to tell stories of production. Hare includes an amusing anecdote from Joseph Cotton, who at the beginning of production was having trouble figuring out how to act like a murderer. Apparently, Hitchcock took Cotton to Rodeo Drive and asked Cotton to guess which pedestrians he believed to be a murderer. Cotton could not point any out and thus came to the conclusion that murderers look and behave just like normal citizens. In response, Hitchcock, in a totally Hitchcockian way, said “and vise-versa”. There are other anecdotes included as well, in addition to a look at Hitchcock’s approach to production. Hitchcock believed that once there was a completed script and storyboard done angle by angle, it was time to move onto a new project. This disgruntled quite a few actors as he would fall asleep on set, but it was how he worked.

     Hare includes an entire section on dualities within the film. He proposes many things. First, that there are eight main dualities within the film: young Charlie & Uncle Charlie, the two crime-obsessed men, the bar “’Till Two” in which Uncle Charlie orders two double brandies, the waitress at the bar who had been working there for two weeks, the two original police trailing Uncle Charlie, the two subsequent detectives investigating Uncle Charlie, the two suspects in the widow murders and Uncle Charlie’s two attempts to kill young Charlie. He concludes that there are many reasons for these dualities. First, they represent the dualities of the world: the peacefulness of organized cities and towns and the cruel, harsh uncertainties of the world at large. Second, it mimicked Hitchcock’s own duality. He was loving and warm towards his wife and daughter but cold and distant from all others. Third, it mimicked what was going on in Hitchcock’s life at the moment. He was working on a film in the quaint town of Santa Rosa, California, while his home country of England was being bombed and invaded by Nazis.

      This is the best answer to my question that I found. Hare is able to decipher the meaning of the dualities within film and within society. All of his comments are completely valid and supported by both the film and historical information. This chapter is a must-read companion to the film.

Allen, Richard. Hitchcock's Romantic Irony. New York: Columbia University Press, 2007.

Chapter: “Knowledge and Sexual Difference”

     This chapter explores the plots of many Hitchcock films by analyzing gender roles and the characters’ recognition according to his or her gender. It is a new way to look at Hitchcock. Allen is able to map out four different types of Hitchcock narratives: the “joint quest”, the female driven, the masculine driven and male homosexual driven. In a “joint quest”, a male with ability to reason and a female with intuition come together to uncover the truth. Films that fall into this category include Young and Innocent, The Lady Vanishes, and The Man Who Knew Too Much. In “female-focalized” narratives, which are reminiscent of gothic melodramas, a woman must lead an investigation to uncover the truth about her older, male, love interest. Films that fall into this category include Suspicion, Rebecca and Shadow of a Doubt. In masculine driven narratives, there is usually an ordinary man, of social status, who plays the role of detective to find the villain. Films that fall into this category include Notorious, Murder!, Marnie, The Paradine Case and Vertigo. Finally, the homosexual driven narratives are, in Allen’s opinion, Hitchock’s idea of a homosexual man being a female spirit caught inside a male body. In these films, the homosexuals are the same as the heroes, except for their sexual preferences, which stop them from pursuing heterosexual relationships. Additionally, they are antagonists. Films that fit this narrative include Strangers on a Train, The Lodger and Psycho.

     Allen groups Shadow of a Doubt within the feminine driven films. Uncle Charlie moves into the same house as Younger Charlie and she is forced to uncover the truth about this older man towards whom there is some incestual attraction. He argues that not only are they doubles, but young Charlie believes that Uncle Charlie completes her. It is through him that she can leave behind small-town life and have adventures of her own. She wants to break free from the strict familial social structure. However, Uncle Charlie turns out to be a huge proponent of this structure. He murders the widows because he believes that women should be married with children, not alone and wealthy. He murders the women who are what young Charlie hopes to become. From this I can conclude that in the end, although on the surface they appear to have separate fates, they actually share the same fate. Young Charlie becomes like her Uncle, finally giving into becoming a wife and mother. Uncle Charlie, the biggest proponent of this strict structure is murdered ironically under a similar pretense to why he murders the widows. He should be a husband and father and so he does not fit into the structure either. The importance of the social structure is re-enforced at the end of the film, with the man who doesn’t fit into it dead and the girl who opposed it finally giving in.

Brody, Alan. "The Gift of Realism: Hitchcock and Pinter." Journal of Modern Literature 3, no. 2 (April 1973): 149-172. http://jstor.org (accessed

     November 24, 2008).

    This is an extremely interesting journal article that compares and contrasts film and theatre. Brody uses Harold Pinter’s play The Birthday Party and Alfred Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt as the vehicles for this comparison. Brody focuses mostly on the differences between the two mediums and what each can accomplish. He reflects on film’s flexibility with time and location, its ability to direct the audience’s attention, focus in on minute gestures and the control it gives a director. Theatre, on the other hand, has much less flexibility with time and location, as everything must appear on one stage. The actors have to work on their motions, facial expressions and intonations in order to direct an audience’s attention, as audiences always have a huge picture infront of them- there are no close-ups or long shots. Additionally, while the director has some control over theatre the job of creating “shots” lies in the eyes of the audience and the pauses of the actors. Brody discusses how while The Birthday Party and Shadow of a Doubt have similar plots and scenes they are completely different due to their different mediums.
    Brody has an interesting view of the dualities within Shadow of a Doubt. Early in the article he points out Hitchcock’s use of tension. Hitchcock juxtaposes actions with dialogue in a way that always forms tension. This is then comparable to themes of tension within his films: “good and evil, innocence and experience, external and internal reality, faith and despair.” Brody then applies this theory to Shadow of a Doubt by completing a thurough scene analysis. It is the scene in which Emma brings Uncle Charlie his breakfast and tells him of the two reporters coming to write about the Newtons. While Emma is talking all this simple nonsense, the camera focuses is on Charlie’s hands. As soon as she mentions the two men, Charlies hands tense up and begin tearing toast. This image is specifically paired with the dialogue to create and show tension. Furthermore, he believes the duality between Uncle Charlie and young Charlie lies within the tension of Uncle Charlie yearning to re-possess his innocence, the innocence his neice displays, and his drive to kill her as she represents what he can never have back. Brody goes on to prove that the tension between the Charlies is a perfect example of the issues between film and theatre.
    This is a much more unique take on the dualities between the characters. It is unlike those of other sources. I completely agree with Brody and his analysis. It is wonderful how he is able to delve so far into the depths of a play and a film as well as address the issues between the two. I completely buy into this idea of tension within Shadow of a Doubt. However, I do not believe that this idea can be applied to all the dualities within the film, especially the repetition of scenes.

Hurley, Neil P. Soul in Suspense: Hitchcock's Fright and Delight. Metuchen, New Jersey: The Scarecrow Press, Inc., 1993.

Chapter: “Mysticism of Numbers”

    In this chapter, Neil P. Hurley examines the numerology present in Hitchcock’s works. Hurley focuses on the numbers two, three, seven and thirteen, explaining their spiritual, mystical and religious meanings. He then discusses the use of these films through in-depth analyses of some of Hitchcock’s greatest works including Shadow of a Doubt, Psycho, Vertigo, Frenzy, The Trouble With Harry and The Birds. His analysis is interesting and a different way to look at things that seemed so minute. For instance, he argues that the three-storied home of Norman Bates is three-storied to fulfill a purpose of the number three, that of Freudian psychology. The basement represents the id, the ground floor represents the ego and the upper room represents the superego. Norman lives in the attic, which is beyond the id, ego and the superego and thus in an alternate, non-realistic universe. Hurley points out many other examples of the use of the numbers, visually (like Hitchcock’s own appearance in Strangers on a Train when he is playing cards and holding thirteen spades) and through the characters (like in Vertigo, Scottie Ferguson is grappling with the seven effects of vertigo: space, time, antiquities, social and personal interaction, psychology, philosophy and religion).
    In reference to dualities, Hurley references Spoto’s The Dark Side of Genius. Hurley argues that he agrees with Spoto’s observations regarding his list of dual themes and “dual camera insinuations”. He argues that this use of dualities, that between good and evil, are reflective of Hitchcock’s Jesuit training. Instead of seeing the dualities this way, that between the two Charlies, Hurley sees it through the two murder-obsessed men, Joe Newton and Herbie Hawkins. Although Spoto argues that the two Charlies are the manifestation of Hitchcock’s own duality, Hurley believes it to be the two men. This is because the two men read and discuss murder and are thus “imaginatively and mentally involved” but neither takes the next step to become physically involved and actually murder someone. This is how Hurley views Hitchcock.
    After researching Hitchcock, I believe in both Hurley and Spoto’s ideas when it comes to the dualities. There are traces of Hitchcock in both sets of duos. However, I am not sure how much I believe Hurley’s other arguments throughout the chapter. Some of the examples he uses seem contrived and outlandish. Although Hitchcock was a brilliant mastermind, I am sure he was not conscious of all the use of number within his own film. For example, the use of the number two in Shadow of a Doubt is obvious and Hitchcock was definitely aware of this. However, Hurley argues later that Mrs. Hawkins is referenced with concern three times, thus further enhancing the mysticism that surrounds her character as a symbol for Hitchcock’s own mother. That argument has crossed the line from analytical to convoluted. Is he saying that Hitchcock made sure that other characters only expressed concern for Mrs. Hawkins three times and made sure the rest of her references were not that of concern? I am not convinced.

Derry, Charles. The Suspense Thriller: Films in the Shadow of Alfred Hitchcock. Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, Inc., 

     Publishers, 1988.

Chapter: “The Thriller of Moral Confrontation”

     This chapter focuses on a sub-genre of thrillers, that of moral confrontation. By that, Derry means a film that revolves around a character representing good and another representing evil. Many of these films include many dualities, thus accentuating the differences between the protagonist and the villain, good verse evil. The films that belong in this sub-genre have many things in common, such as the themes of an “evanescence of innocence” and the ultimate haziness of morals, the inclusion of a childlike protagonist, cat and mouse chases, an obsession with voyeurism, an sinful protagonist who either acts like a civilized citizen or is unseen to the viewer and finally, they take placed in a totally warped time span that could be just a few hours or days. Derry takes the reader through an analysis of many films that fit this genre, such as Shadow of a Doubt, The Window, Stage Freight, Strangers on a Train, Dial M for Murder, Rear Window, The Desperate Hours, Straw Dogs, Night of the Hunter, Blowup, Wait Until Dark, The Bride Wore Black, Le Boucher, La Rapture, Duel, Sudden Terror, Death Wish, Outrage, 10 to Midnight, Jagged Edge, The Eyes of Laura Mars, The Fan, Eye of the Needle, The Mean Season, Perfect Strangers, Blue Velvet and The Stepfather. Derry puts each film in context of the moral confrontation genre and compares them to one another as well.

     In response to my question of dualities, Derry focuses on analyzing the duality of Charlie and Charlie and then lists the other duos in the film. He believes that the reason for the dualities is to balance the villain, Uncle Charlie with the protagonist, younger Charlie. This makes the viewer aware of the Charlies’ “symbiotic relationship”. Another purpose to the two’s that Derry proposes is that Hitchcock sets up expectations that need to be met. If there is one scene at a train station, the film cannot end until there is another one. If one of the murder suspects is killed by a deadly vehicle, the other, Uncle Charlie, must meet the same death.

     This is a valid conclusion to draw from the dualities, although I believe that there are more concrete reasons that I have uncovered. I would take the expectation theory further by saying that this creates a false sense of certainty in a viewer. For instance, as a viewer, having your expectations met time and time again, you believe that you can guess the ending. If you take this idea of two of everything and apply it to the end of a film, a viewer might think that both characters have to die. The fate of one is the fate of them all. However, it is just Uncle Charlie who dies, thus destroying the viewers’ expectations. This causes the film to be more shocking and have more of an after-effect. Can you ever really trust your instincts, even if your theory has been proven right time and time again?

Rothman, William. Hitchcock- The Murderous Gaze. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1982.

Chapter: “Shadow of a Doubt”

     Opening with a section on how Hitchcock’s move to America affected him and his work as well as Hollywood, Rothman continues by going into an in-depth analysis of Shadow of a Doubt. Rothman takes the reader through the film, shot by shot, analyzing themes and quotes along the way. He compares aspects of the film to other mediums, referencing Dracula, as well as other Hitchcock works. His ideas are well-developed, supported with examples from the film and altogether, serve as a great companion to the film. It could almost be used as a textbook to the film. Rothman makes claims such as how the script is “quotable” and that, on a whole, it is Hitchcock’s first American film that successfully combined the style he learned in Hollywood with the skills he acquired in Great Britain. He poses questions for the reader that he never answers, which is at once both thought provoking and a nuisance. He opens a readers’ eyes to analyzing all new aspects of the film, such as transitions and soundtrack volume level.

     Rothman never explicitly discusses the use of dualities in the film. Although he references the similarities between the Charlie’s, he really only delves into this significance at the end of the chapter. He believes that Uncle Charlie attempts to kill his niece as a way to prove that they are in fact twins and what joins them is something monstrous. Rothman argues that Uncle Charlie sets the situation up for his niece to kill him. This would end the cycle of Charlie’s initial request for her Uncle to bring a “miracle” and free her from her monotonous life. When Charlie kills her Uncle, it is a miracle- she puts him out of his miserable life and herself as well. Charlie must commit a murder just as her Uncle has, and breaking this curse is the only thing to set her free and allow her to be re-born as an innocent adult.

     I do not agree with Rothman’s conclusion. I do not think that Uncle Charlie arranged for his own murder. His attempts to kill his niece refute this idea. Additionally, he is violent towards his niece a few times throughout the film. He would hurt anyone to preserve his innocence. I believe he intended to kill his niece on the moving train and that his plan merely backfired. He was not using reverse psychology. Additionally, I do not believe that they are joined by their monstrous tendencies, but separated by it. They are each a half of a person and thus they really do not share anything but telepathy when apart. Together, the aspects of their individual personas combine to create one real person, someone who is not altogether innocent, but who can control her villainous qualities.

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