Universal's pioneering and iconic film Dracula (1931) not only helped to establish Universal Pictures as the publics "go to" source for horror films, but it also used and created many film tropes that are still present in the horror genre today.

        The article is a review of Dracula, also known as Bram Stoker's Dracula, a 1992 horror/romance film produced and directed by Francis Ford Coppola, by Roger Ebert. This film was based on the actual novel Dracula by Bram Stoker and stars Gary Oldman as Count Dracula. In his three-star review of the film Ebert talks about in depth both the plot and the quality of the film. Although it is mostly a positive review, Ebert reflects on the fact that Coppola “seems more concerned with spectacle and set-pieces than with storytelling.” He additionally states that at times the narrative is confusing and has many dead ends. Nevertheless, he says that he enjoyed the movie simply because the way it looked and felt. At the end of the article, he states that cinematographer Michael Ballhaus and Production designers Dante Ferreti and Thomas Sanders had "outdone themselves.'

        The origin of this film is precisely how Universal's Dracula, and many of its other horror films, came to be. For many of the films during the “Universal Horror” years, their inspiration came from gothic novels, legends and stage plays. Mystery plays, where individuals travel to a house only to be spooked and scared by a supernatural (or not) being is another commonly adapted type of media. The concept presented in these films usually evolve from one telling to the next, refining and reshaping the narrative to suit the needs of the culture it resides in. Films like the Bram Stoker's Dracula are supremely important as they help to reinvigorate old ideas and stories. This director used modern cinematic techniques and effects to excite the audience about an old story they believed they knew well. Just like Universal did with Dracula in 1931, Coppola changes his story slightly to appeal to his contemporary audience. This is a commonplace occurrence within the horror genre and it serves as a method to keep it fresh as time goes on.

       This article is actually extremely interesting as it talks about the effects of Universal’s Dracula in the narratives native country of origin, Romania. Although the film was created in 1931, it was not until the collapse of Soviet rule that the film finally made it way to the Transylvanian countryside. Apparently, after this discovery, much of the Romanian economy was transformed as tourist attractions based on the figure sprung up to capitalize (literally) on their country’s infamy. Hotels converted themselves into castle like bed and breakfasts, ordinary coffins became stage props for midnight performances, and ordinary roads became dark and scary paths for haunted hayrides. Additionally, besides a growth in tourism, the commercial exploitation of Dracula and Transylvania received an extra boost through the increase in academic tourism – several  international meetings of scholars specializing in the horror genres began to take place there as well.
    It’s an intriguing idea that a simple novel written Bram Stoker could inspire a film that later spawns a small scale cultural and economic revolution for a little, seemingly ordinary nation. This fact proves that Dracula’s influence reached far past the borders of our own nation and affected cultures around the world. A simple search on Google images with terms like “Dracula Japan” shows that the iconic imagery contained within the 1931 film is still found in popular culture even on the other side of the world. The Universal version of Dracula served as the basis for all future retellings in popular culture. Perhaps it was Bela Lugosi’s eerie voice acting or Jack Pierce’s masterful make-up work, whatever the reason, the 1931 account of Bram Stoker’s Dracula established itself as the most recognizable version of the tale to date and possibly forever.

In February of 1931 New York Times journalist Mordaunt Hall reviewed Director Tod Browning’s film Dracula. Throughout his review the writer raves about the picture; even though his summarization, his excited tone is evident. Although within his short article he seems to be enamored with the fantastical idea behind of the film, he does concede that the acting of some individuals is sub par. He ends with the line “This film can at least boast of being the best of the many mystery films.”
    Although it may appear unassuming at first, this article is actually very telling. Not only does it describe how the critics and the public felt about the film in 1931, it now serves as a forecast for the success that Universal would see later on with its other horror films. The author readily acknowledges that the film is not a high class picture but one for the masses, aimed squarely at those with the imagination and courage to view it. And arguably, it came at no better time. With the great depression in full swing and a general sense of hopelessness abounding, America needed a way to escape. What better way to do it than a Universal Pictures horror movie? After all, not much can scare someone after they face down the idea of not having enough to feed their families day after day. Dracula, as well as Frankenstein, the Wolfman and the Mummy, served as icons of distraction that helped America get though hard times and ignite their imaginations. This service proved invaluable in these troubled times and ultimately resulted in their visible location in modern society.

Directed by James Whale and starring Boris Karloff as Frankenstein’s monster, Universals adaptation of the 1818 Mary Shelley novel Frankenstein was a crucial film in the studios line of horror pictures. Like Dracula, the film was released in 1931 and received critical acclaim from both critics and the public alike. The films narrative follows the now familiar plot of a mad scientist bent on creating a man from assorted dead parts and playing God. The twist occurs when the monster becomes uncontrollable and instead of creating man, Dr. Frankenstein creates a dreadful monster. By the end of the film, the local townspeople decide that the creation is an abomination and ultimately destroy it. The film was lauded because of its superb make-up, special effects and thrilling plot. It later spawned several sequels, prequels and side stories including Bride of Frankenstein and Frankenstein vs. the Wolfman.
    The true testament to the iconic nature of the film can be seen in the visual representations of Frankenstein that pervade the world today. Almost every single representation of the character we see in western society is based on the green skinned, bolted and shambling version presented to us by Universal in the early 1930’s. We see versions of Boris Karloff’s face on cereal boxes, cartoons and, of course, in the masks of Halloween costumes. The longevity of these images that occur in our culture is a genuine indicator of the success of the Universal horror line of films; they have become integrated into our popular consciousness and now represent the traditional fiends and monsters that we draw on for inspiration. Like with Dracula, Universal’s Frankenstein has become the most recognizable version of the monsters narrative, even more so than the original work by Shelley. Because of these reasons, Universal was able to establish itself as the best studio producer of horror films of the 20th century.

Written by Michael Atkinson in 1998, this article was featured in the Village Voice film section. In its paragraphs it describes a number of classic horror films a person could bring his or her family to. Atkinson stated that during the hey-day of horror films during the 1930s and 1940s the films must have supplied thrills and fun for depression era movie goers. He contends that their age now makes them more appealing to young boys and lovers of camp. With titles like Frankenstein vs. the Wolfman, who can blame him? Because of this, Atkinson states, the films are now more humorous than scary. He does however say that Universal Horror had a large influence on popular culture. He states:

    This small handful of films are responsible for more specific cultural touchstones than the era's westerns, musicals, and gangster films combined: Jack Pierce's flat-headed Frankenstein monster makeup and hotwired-Afro Bride design, Lugosi's accent, the hunchbacked lab assistant, the mad scientist, the throbbing electrical hardware of the lab itself, crowds of townspeople with torches, the details of werewolf myth (silver bullets, etc.), the vampire's old-world urbanity, and so on.

    Atkinson’s article for the most part is very agreeable. It’s blatantly obvious that the Universal horror films of the 1930s and 40s have begun to show their age. He eludes to the fact that horror films have evolved since then; this is very true. Films now contain much more gore, special effects, nudity and action. The modern audience has been desensitized to the traditional scares of yesteryear. The horror genre has come a long way since 1931 as the society that creates these narratives alters its own tastes as time marches on. In the 60’s we had the underhanded thrills of Hitchcock, the 80’s brought the blood with the likes of Freddy Krueger, and with the new millennium our society has found itself with the over-the-top style of the Saw series. Yet what these newer films lack is the other point Atkinson contends with within his article. The classic films that he highlights, especially ones like Dracula and Frankenstein, have engrained themselves in our national consciousness and have become a part of our collective identity. While today they may seem cheesy, at their release these films were truly terrifying tales about monsters that go bump in the night.

This chapter of Film History: An International Journal was dubbed Sauerkraut & Sausages with a Little Goulash: Germans in Hollywood, 1927. The chapter dealt with the influx of German filmmakers into Hollywood during the 1920s and early 30s. Additionally, it talked about in detail the union of the styles of German expressionism and Hollywood, and its effects on the national and international film industries. Fleeing an increasingly more fascist Germany, these filmmakers brought with them techniques and skills that Hollywood readily adopted. The author further sustains that these filmmakers had an expressionist style that included a low key lighting design that was previously associated with German high art cinema. In 1930’s Hollywood, this technique was applied mostly to the classic horror films that we know today.
    German expressionism was extremely important in the development of the horror genre. Starting with Nosferatu in 1922, a unique take on Bram Stoker’s Dracula story, horror films used expressionistic techniques to their advantage. Shadows, contrasting lighting, heavy make-up and special effect are all expressionistic techniques that persist in the horror genre even to present day. Films during the 1930s were especially influenced by the style because many of the German immigrants, like Dracula cinematographer Karl Freund, went straight from their motherland to Universal Pictures where they began work on the horror classics we cherish today. German expressionism, while having a relatively short lifespan, greatly influenced film style worldwide and shaped Hollywood horror more so than anything else.

The writer of this article discusses a book called Hollywood Gothic: The Tangled Web of "Dracula" from Novel to Stage to Screen. Within his article he summarizes the book and talks about its more interesting aspects and ideas. According to his details, the text deals with many adaptations of the popular legend, both mainstream and obscure. While the book’s author mentions the 1931 version of Dracula with Bela Lugosi, he seems to mostly focus on another version by George Melford and Carlos Villiaras. This other version of the Bram Stoker narrative was also made by Universal in 1931 and even used the same script and sets. However this edition was filmed in Spanish as it was going to be distributed to Mexico and Spain. The book’s author argues that this version not a mere clone but is vastly superior to the American version in both cinematic style and performances. Within the book the author also recounts the legal battles surrounding F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu. While this film was another adaptation of the Dracula legend popularized by Bram Stoker, it was not authorized by the authors and thus illegal. The books author contended that although it was illegitimate in the eyes of the law, this 1922 silent version was still a extremely entertaining and a well done film.
    As the author describes, the story of Dracula is one filled with many appropriations of his image and hundreds of adaptations. He also states that the 1931 Spanish language version of Dracula was one of the best uses of the narrative ever. To this, many would have to agree. However, the reason why this version reigns supreme within the world of cinema is chiefly because of the company that backed its production. Universal brought together the inventive minds of make-up artist Jack Pierce, Director Tod Browning and Cinematographer Karl Freund to create a memorable works whose echoes can still be felt within society today. Although many individuals may be able to create an adaptation of a horror story, few pulled it off as well as Universal Pictures and their collection of ingenious minds.

    This particular entry appeared in the St. James Encyclopedia of Pop Culture and was written by Austin Booth. Within its pages, Mr. Booth describes the monster Dracula, in almost all of his many incarnations, within the realm of popular culture. He of course talks extensively about the 1931 version of the narrative, but also finds time to pay homage to a wide variety of characters such as “Sesame Street's Count, Grandpa Munster, Blackula, Duckula, and Count Chockula.” He then describes the resurgence of interest in monster culture on television during the late 1950s and 1960s. Lastly, his entry focuses on the idea of Dracula as a foil or guide to view popular ideas of psychological and social issues.

    Dracula is interesting as he can represent a metaphor for several issues within our society. Some see him as the fear of homosexuals in bodily form. Others believe him to be representative of medieval aristocracy or the uncaring nature of nobility towards the proletariat. A few individuals even see him as the embodiment of his victims in fiendish form. While his physical forms may be analogous to one another, the ideas behind Dracula are much more amorphous. The count is a fascinating monster as his intentions and metaphors can be appropriated to match many circumstances. His status is ambiguous as both fiend and gentleman, hyper-masculine and feminine, ravenous and deliberate. His conflicting dualities lend him to fit within many roles; because of this filmmakers have adapted his persona to suit different eras and audiences.

Nosferatu was an early German horror film made in 1922 by director F.W. Murnau. While the film was one of the first cinematic takes on the Dracula legend, it was not actually approved by the Stoker estate. Because of this, all copies of the film were required to be rounded up and destroyed. However, the film was never fully suppressed because of the enormity of the task – the film had already spread across the globe and too many people did not want to part with it. Although the Stoker estate attempted to stop the spread of the film, it was already too late; the film had already achieved cult classic status as an eerie and otherworldly work. Today the film can be obtained for free legally as it has fallen into public domain.

    Nosferatu was extremely important to the development of both horror films and Dracula based narratives that followed it. Although illegal, as a German expressionist film the picture used several cinematic techniques that influenced Universal’s 1931 version and are still frequently in the genre today. In fact, many of the attributes of the film are now seen as staples of the horror genre. The use of low key lighting, shadows and special effects were all used in the creation of this silent film. When used together these visual effects helped the film establish the villain “Count Orlok” as a terrifying supernatural beast that should be feared. The chiaroscuro lighting that helped hide the monster in the shadows, show approaching danger and contrast images is still widely used in modern horror films.

This article featured in the trade journal Movie Maker glorifies the potential the Internet has for the film industry. From streaming videos to online rental stores, the Internet has revolutionized the way motion pictures are consumed. Not only does this new outlet seem profitable for the industry, but also convenient for audiences. With increasing digital capabilities, movies are becoming a media that audiences can interact with and access easily. The Internet in particular has drastically changed the movie industry in terms of advertising and viewing. Numerous websites are designed to stream full-length videos, such as Movielink.com. Netflix, a site known for its online rental services, is another site that is following this trend. Subscribers to Netflix can pay for monthly packages that allow for hours of streaming video. The author recognizes that the public may not be ready for such changes. As of now, people would prefer the comforts of their couch and big-screen tv when watching a movie.

Whereas these rental and streaming video websites are still evolving, studios have recognized the Internet's potential for publicity. The Internet has the ability to attract large audiences and target niche markets. This feature has a significant impact on smaller, low-budget films. Moviemakers can target films directly to their audiences and gain popularity through the net. This is exactly how the Blair Witch Project evolved into the phenomenon it became. A website that has expanded upon this idea is Customflix.com, which uses the Internet to promote independent films. These films, which may have disappeared due to lack of funding now can be viewed and sold online.

The article points out that "what we have learned from radio, television, video and DVD is that new media technologies tend not to replace existing modes, but to interact with them." The sales and marketing of film have reached new levels thanks to the web's capabilities. For example, MovieClub Online is a website that offers discounted movie tickets and video rentals, legally! They have joined with theaters and video store chains to make their site possible. Fandango is another company well known for online ticket sales.

Although this article highlights the advantages of the Internet, the author is overly optimistic and somewhat naive. Unfortunately, pirates have also benefited from these new technologies at the expense of the industry. It is important for my paper to note these innovations while also pointing out their downfalls.

website used to order movies and music from bestbuy

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf (2 Disk Special Edition): Commentary by Mike Nichols. Dir. Mike Nichols. Perf. Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton. DVD. Warner Home Video, 2006.  The commentary track on the special edition DVD provides perhaps the most insightful perspective of the film as far as the on-set culture and interactions that occurred daily during the production of the film.  Nichols gives a very in depth explanation of each scene, which includes filming techniques, lighting issues, relationships between actors and cameramen, as well as script censorship issues.  For instance, Nichols explains how the studio forced them to change the explicative used by Martha as George opens the front door to greet the arriving guests. It was Nichols first feature film and was much different than the documentary style he was used to working with.  It was very interesting to hear about the different challenges that the crew faced depending on the scene.  Nichols also explains some of the back and forth battle that occurred between himself and the playwright Edward Albee as they attempted to adopt the Broadway play to the big screen.  It is a valuable resource for examining the mindset of the filmmakers as they challenged the PCA in order to present the film as the artist intended.

This Film is Not Yet Rated. Dir. Kirby Dick. Perf. Kirby Dick, Jack Valenti, Kimberly Pierce, Alison Anders, and John Waters. IFC, Netflix, and BBC, 2006.  This Film Is Not Yet Rated is an independent documentary film about the Motion Picture Association of America's rating system.  It is an in-depth discussion about the current rating system, adopted under Jack Valenti's tenure as president of the MPAA, and attempts to challenge the system as unfair to the artists and filmmakers of independent films.  The main argument is that the review board of the MPAA is an unfair representation of the general public and that often times filmmakers receive unfair ratings that cost them millions of dollars in studio funding and box office sales.  It shows how an NC-17 rating can be a dreaded rating to receive to filmmakers because it often means that the release of their film is doomed to fail.  It also attempts to derive trends in the rating system that implies unfair judgments including: homophobia, female pleasure, and certain sexual movements.  Criticizing the reasoning behind these trends, Kirby points out the fact that violence in films is not poorly received by the board and often skates by without scolding.  This documentary is an excellent examination of the current rating system and begs the question of whether the MPAA is just a tool for serving the big budget studios rather than protecting the public from inappropriate content.

Lewis, John. Hollywood V. Hardcore: How the Struggle Over Censorship Saved the Modern Film Industry. New York and London: New York UP, 2000. 135-191. 

            Chapter 4, titled Hollywood v. Soft Core, examines arguably the most influential year of film censorship to date.  In this year, MPAA president Jack Valenti issued a press release to stating that a new production code/ move rating system would be put into place.  The same system is still used today to rate films.  The chapter does a good job of outlining the events of how this code came into place. The author explains how the "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf" was denied by the PCA but began production anyway, anticipating that change was to come.  It talks about the controversy over the language such as "screw" and "hump the hostess" were debated and the issues Valenti faced with content regulation.  In the end of the meeting, Warner Brothers appealed the PCA's preliminary ruling to deny Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf and the film was released.  Because of the films amazing success, it marked a point in history where the industry was beginning to understand that the Production Code was a dated system.  The film was released with a warning stating "for adults only" and ranked third in the box office list in 1966 behind two other mature-themed pictures. This chapter is very useful and entertaining in its explanation of the pressures and challenges that Valenti faced when negotiating the new rating system. It offers a very in depth perspective and takes the reader on a film by film journey of the controversy.

This article gives a fairly good description of the life of Jack Valenti, who arguably had more power over the motion picture industry than anyone who ever lived.  Paragraphs 9 through 16 are particularly useful for formulating a perspective on the era in which Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf was released. It explains how there was a compromise in which three out of four vulgarisms were cut. It also gives credit to the film Blowup for using Woolf's momentum to cause its own controversy with brief nudity and sexual themes.  Fearing that censorship power might return to the individual states, Valenti acted,” I knew I had to move swiftly, and I did,” he later recalled. “I was determined to free the screen from anything like the Hays Code. But I also emphasized that freedom demanded responsibility.”  Some interesting notes are the fact that the movie Gremlins inspired Valenti to add a PG-13 rating to the initial rating system.  Also, the X rating was changed to NC-17.  The author then touches on one of the downfalls of Valenti's rating system, "distributors have mostly spurned [NC-17 ratings] for commercial reasons, leaving many filmmakers to make wrenching cuts to adult-themed films in pursuit of an R rating."  This explains some of the controversy over the rating system that still goes on today.  The rest of the article continues to elaborate on his incredible life but is less valuable for examining film censorship.

Gardner, Gerald. The Censorship Papers: Movie Censorship Letters From the Hays Office, 1934 to 7968. New York: Dodd, Mead & Company, 1987. 198-200.This part of Chapter 17, Dramas From Broadway, offers a very informative look at the process of the PCA when reviewing the script of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf.  It tells of the meeting between Jack L. Warner and chief censor Geoffrey Shurlock.  After reading a copy of the play by Edward Albee the censor gave a list of all of the explicatives and phrases that would be considered unacceptable by the PCA, which the chapter lists completely.  This is a great example of the strictness of the PCA and its discretion towards strong language and sexual themes.  When the film was actually made, many of these phrases are omitted or altered.  The chapter goes on to explain how the Warner Brother's film held faithful to the Albee play.  It was denied by the PCA and was appealed to the MPAA board.  The chapter then lists the reasons why the MPAA decided to release the film after all.  The reasons were: The film was not designed to be prurient; Warner Brothers has taken the position that no person under eighteen will be admitted unless accompanied by a parent, and that the exemption does not mean that the floodgates are open for language or other material. This chapter is very useful for getting an inside look at the appeal process of the time and the drastic exceptions made on behalf of who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.

Doherty, Thomas. Pre-Code Hollywood. New York: Columbia UP, 1999. 319-346.The twelfth chapter of Pre-Code Hollywood examines the Hollywood Cinema during an era when Joseph I. Breen and the Motion Picture Producers and Distributers of America began to enforce what is known as the Hays Production Code.  The chapter gives accounts of events leading up to the adoption of the code and how it was recieved by filmmakers and the public.  It gives a good representation of the extent that the Roman Catholic Church and the "National Legion of Decency spearheaded a renewed and more aggressive crusade to clean up [the film industry."  Going into detail, the authors explains many of the church's tactics to try to curb its followers away from the film industry, going as far as to station people outside of theaters to make sure that Catholics weren't going to see movies that the church deemed objectionable.The NRA Code is the next turn of the chapter.  Bringing up the court case ruling in Mutual Film Corporation v. Industrial Commission of Ohio, where the government considered the film industry as purely a business and not a tool for public opinion.  This marked the beginning of more federal power over censorship, rather than relying on local state regulation.  One trade press manager summed the situation up by stating, "the whole world has gotten the idea that Hollywood is Hell's home office and Hays is the District Manager.” In order to lessen the influence of the Catholic Church the MPPDA granted the Production Code Administration autonomy and power.  This meant that the PCA would have to approve of a film before the banks would fund it.  Joseph I. Breen was put in charge and effectively enforced the Code, even reportedly stating, "I am the Code".  Many movies that carried the tones of pre-Code Hollywood were refused by the Breen Office.  The chapter goes further into explaining the effect it had on Hollywood film budgets and box office sales and gives an overall impression that films were more boring post-Code. The end of the chapter briefly explains how the 60's marked a period where the Code was considered dated. This chapter is a good indicator of the type of censorship environment that the country was used to before the making of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf.  It puts the era into a good context for considering the challenges that faced Mike Nichols and Ernest Lehman when the film was being made and released.

This article covers the history of film censorship in the United States extensively.  It begins by explaining the different factors that lead up the self-regulation of the motion picture industry.  Then it goes over every detail of the MPAA rating system, fully explaining the G,M,R, and X ratings.  The article takes a turn when Bates attacks the rating system for its unconstitutional implications. He argues that films should not be limited in content because that would violate the filmmakers' First Amendment rights.  He then goes into detail the vast differences between government censorship and the MPAA system which "lacks procedural safeguards that would be required of a state classification scheme".  He then proceeds to attack the MPAA for their claims of not being a censorship agency.  Towards the end, Bates makes strong arguments for the implementation of state action concepts to MPAA film classification.  He explains the governmental-function, government-enforced, and state-inaction theories as possible alternatives to the current problem.  He also examines the theoretical scope of the Fourteenth Amendment.  Bates overall perspectives are very insightful for delving into the controversy of the MPAA system and the solutions he offers are very interesting and intuitive. His words serve to challenge the MPAA and any other organization that has seemingly unlimited power over people with little to no government intervention.

Steve Levenger's blog about books made into movies

Searchable database of movies

McCabe touches on Pabst passim. Of particular interest is her discussion of "H.D.'s unremitting admiration of Pabst--from Joyless Street to having 'vanquished the border-sphere' in Secrets of a Soul" (162). McCabe suggests that H.D. was attracted to Pabst's "feminine" film style which influenced her own film aesthetic.

Friedberg introduces her article with a look at the twin birth of psychoanalysis and cinema and argues that "Freud's theory of the unconscious. . .was, from the start, a theory in search of an apparatus. Yet the cinema, an apparatus which could reproduce and project specular images, from its beginnings, an apparatus in search of a theory" (41). Drawing on Chodorkoff and Baxter, Friedberg offers a reading of the history of the making of Secrets of the Soul, including Freud's rejection of the project. She calls the film the first 'that directly tried to represent psychoanalytic descriptions of the etiology of a phobia and the method of psychoanalytic treatment" (45). Friedberg points to the various ironic name puns having to do with Freud's lack of involvment in the film: that Pabst, the director of Joyless Street--Die FREUDlose Gasse (my emphasis) was asked to direct a film "mit Freud," when Freud refused to be involved; and that the actor who plays the pshychoanalyst in Secrets, Pavel Pavlov, shares his name with "Freud's mightiest theoretical opponent, the physiologist Ivan Pavlov" (46). Friedman goes on to describe and analyze the film, which she notes is separated into five parts: Pre-Dream; The Dream; Post-Dream; Analysis; and Cure. She notes that the happy ending of the film works as a kind of advertisement for psychoanalysis, arguing that Abraham and Sachs in consulting on the film, intented to "extol its curative virtues" (51).

Chodorkoff and Baxter provide a detailed historical account of the making of Pabst's Secrets of a Soul, taking it as an important example of post-World War I German film, which offers a "significant by forgotten aspect of the history of psychoanalysis" (319). They include a brief reception history as well as a look at the film's form and structure and the experimental nature of presenting dream on the screen in an historical context. They also quote extensively from the letters of Karl Abraham and Freud on the subject of the making of the film and film in general to show Freud's lack of interest in the project--Freud was concerned with protecting psychoanalysis from exploitation and delegitimation. Chodorkoff and Baxter's treatment of the dynamic between Abraham and Freud over film offers context to Freud's often-quoted assertion that "satisfactory plastic representation of our abstractions is at all possible" (323). But the authors find that despite Freud's notion that psychoanalysis could not be captured on film, the resulting film is better at representing psychoanalysis "plastically" than "verbally"--the film uses an excess of text in the form of titles (sub- and inter-), which take away from the film's successes. Finally, the authors read Secrets of the Soul as an historical document that sheds light on early psychoanalytic practice, and they end with a note on the repressed homosexuality in the film, which they suggest is exemplary of Weimer cinema.

Bergstrom examines the differences between Lang and Pabst's uses of "psychological explanation" in their films in order to show the wide spectrum of Weimar film's emphasis on psychology. She notes that while Pabst in such films as Pandora's Box and Secrets of the Soul emphasizes "'realistic' characters who are carefully individuated through psychological depth," Lang's characters are abstract types set up in contrast to institutions (163). Bergstom is not interested in psychoanalysis but in "how psychology is used at the narrative level" (164). Bergstrom reads Secrets of the Soul as didactic/educational film whose project is to legitimate psychoanalysis by showing how it works to diagnose and cure the film's central character. But she notes that the film is the least satisfying of those she examines because, while the main character is shown to have great psychological depth, the secondary characters are devoid of such depth.

Harrison, Stephanie.  Adaptations: From Short Story to Big Screen.  New York: Three Rivers Press, 2005.

Harrison’s book neither deals directly with Roeg’s film, nor with du Maurier’s short story that inspired it, but it is essential to any analysis of Don’t Look Now.  The process by which a director adapts a short story into film is important, because a short story is just that, short.  A director must take something that rarely lasts over fifty pages and turn in into a film that usually lasts over two hours.  A director must take the story and ‘run with it;’ in some ways making the story his own.  Harrison analyzes 35 short stories and the films they spawned.  She separates the films and analyses into sections based mainly on genre (Horror, Western, etc.).  Don’t Look Now is a hybrid film, so it would not snugly fit in any of the genres that Harrison chooses, but it does have horror, drama, erotica, and auteur elements to it.  Harrison describes four different auteurs (Altman, Hitchcock, Kubrick, and Kazan) and their individual styles of adaptation.  She calls Altman, for instance, the “translator” (3), because he attempted to stay as true as possible to the original story.  There is little to no literature written about Nicholas Roeg, so it is impossible to know whether or not he would fit in with any of the different auteurs.
    One point I found very interesting in Harrison’s analysis is her idea that audiences are less hard on films based on short stories for being true to their source material, because “few short stories are embedded in the public’s consciousness in a way that popular novels are” (xvi).  In the case of Don’t Look Now, both the story and the film seem to have been lost from the public consciousness (due, in part, to the success of The Exorcist, which was released the same year as Roeg’s film).  Harrison’s book, as I said above, never mentions Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now, but by looking at the process by which other writers have adapted short stories, we can get a sense of the different approaches to it and how Roeg many have gone about doing it.  Roeg took a fifty-four page short story about a man’s blindness to his abilities and his fate and refashioned it into an unsettling drama/thriller about a married couple and ...

Hutchinson, Tom. Horror & Fantasy in the Movies.  New York: Crescent Books, 1974: 13-36.

Hutchinson goes beyond merely mapping out the history of horror cinema, and dedicates the first chapter of his book to revealing the deeper meanings beyond certain horror films.  Behind the blood and monsters, Hutchinson sees social commentary and much more, which the average viewer is completely unaware of.  He events of The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) and concludes that its underlying message is, “that we ought to co-operate or else” (23).  Hutchinson writes that Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), another 1950s sci-fi film, “carries a warning about loss of identity, an all-too-grim idea in a world where individuality is ironed out into uniform characteristics of thought and yes-saying” (23).
Hutchinson begins his analysis with the birth of cinema and the fantasy shorts of George Meliès.  He moves into German Expressionist films, such as Robert Weine’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1919) and Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1926) (19-21).  He also refers to Hitchcock’s The Birds (1963) and Jacques Tourneur’s Cat People (1942) as further examples of horror films with social messages (23).  Hutchinson argues though, that one cannot simply voice these messages, or warnings, to the audience directly.  As he says, they must be “wrapped up in trappings of tinsel before they will be accepted” (28).
Don’t Look Now (1972) is one of those films whose meaning is “wrapped in trappings of tinsel” (28).  Hutchinson explains that, “[Donald] Sutherland here carries the seeds of his own destruction within himself, but will never know it” (29).  Reflexively, we are placed in the same position as Sutherland, because we are also unable to interpret the signs to recognize the future (e.g. our doom).  Hutchinson’s argument is that, “[Sutherland] is time-trapped in the way that we all are, unable to move beyond his three-dimensional context” (29).  Hutchinson ties into a theme explored in other sources I have encountered, that of time and space (in Don’t Look Now).  He, unfortunately, does not give the theme an adequate explication (quickly moving to the next film), but he does place the film in relation to other horror films that do more than just scare.  One is easier able to understand Don’t Look Now, when placed in the context of other horror films...

A short film to watch.

"Machinima is the making of animated movies in real time through the use of computer game technology. The projects that launched machinima embedded gameplay in practices of performance, spectatorship, subversion, modification, and community. This article is concerned primarily with the earliest machinima projects. In this phase, DOOM and especially Quake movie makers created practices of game performance and high-performance technology that yielded a new medium for linear storytelling and artistic expression. My aim is not to answer the question, “are games art?”, but to suggest that game-based performance practices will influence work in artistic and narrative media." -Lowood

 This article was a primary source for my paper. Althogh Lowood focuses almost entirely on the FPS culture which emerged out of Id Software's original 3D shooter trilogy: Wolfenstein, DOOM, and Quake, it also covers a good deal of general info about machinima...

Provides basic information on many facets of the film industry. Strictly informational, nothing theoretical or persuasive.

Descibes all the aspects behind film marketing, primarily independent movies in Europe. Includes general information on trailers.

Dissertations on the American movie market and methods of distributions and exhibition. Discusses topics from the Paramount litigation to television to rentals.

A history of the American movie business, including information about nickelodeons, theaters, studios, and alternative operations.

Analysis of many aspects that influence the film industry and how it influences others, such as theaters, current events, blockbusters, color, and advertising.

A theoretical approach with examples to American movie trailers. Provides reasons for why audiences like them and why they work. Views trailers as their own rhetorical cinematic narrative form and divides the book into the three eras of cinema.

Explains the idea behind "high concept", which describes today's movie marketing method of creating on simple image for each film. Shows how every aspect of marketing from music to distribution to trailers is bundled into this model.

Explains the Hollywood culture during the Golden Age (classical era) and how it made impressions on the general public. Includes information about the studios, magazines, star aura, agents, and advertising and promotion.

Explores how Hollywood's movies can influence human behavior and popular culture and vise versa. Includes information about marketing techniques, trailers, etc.

Beginner's handbook on the business aspect behind making movies. Includes information about profits, trailers, contracts, etc.

New York Times article by film critic Caryn James which reminds us that trailers exist because movies are simply consumer products. They distort the actual content of the actual films in order to market them to the potential audience.

New York Times article written by critic Caryn James which compares several movies and their trailers, proving the point that trailers can give inaccurate impressions of the story and quality of it's full-length movie.

While the text doesn’t make many outright references to Ikiru (there are only two), the story of Kurosawa’s life allows for a deeper understanding of the reasons behind the directorial choices made in Ikiru.  The autobiography is divided up in a few different ways; one of which is a division into “eras” in the life of Kurosawa, such as “Rashomon,” which focuses on the making of the film and the enormous critical success it achieved overseas (it won the Grand Prix at the Venice International Film Festival and the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film).  The autobiography is also interspersed with memories from Kurosawa at from various points in his life, like the chapter, “Calligraphy,” which tells how Kurosawa learned the art from his teacher.  The autobiography ends with his thoughts on Rashomon, so Kurosawa never goes into detail about Ikiru (because Ikiru was filmed after Rashomon), but we get the groundwork for what would cause his interest in the subject matter of the film.
Discussing the film Drunken Angel, Kurosawa recounts, “As background to the characterizations, we decided to create an unsightly drainage pond where people threw their garbage” (156), which is an image that returns in Ikiru, although it has a different allegorical meaning.  Many plot elements and images from Kurosawa’s films were taken straight from his life (a point made by Goodwin in his book ), and Ikiru is no different.  Kurosawa says of the studio he began his career at, “Management theory at P.C.L. regarded the assistant directors as cadets who would later become managers and directors” (95).  The bureaucratic elements in the management system at P.C.L., that Kurosawa criticizes, has echoes in the stagnant and immutable Japanese civil service in Ikiru.
Events from his life also influenced Kurosawa in the existential themes he deals with in Ikiru.  Kurosawa recounts, in the chapter “A Horrifying Event,” an early scene from his childhood, when he and his brother walked around the city looking at the death and destruction caused by the Kato Earthquake.  His brother uncomfortably forces him to look at the hundreds of dead bodies, but when Kurosawa goes to sleep, he does not have any nightmares.  When the young Kurosawa asks why he didn’t have any nightmares, his brother responds, “If you shut your eyes to a frightening sight, you end up being frightened.  If you look at everything straight on, there is nothing to be afraid of.”   This message has deep significance to Ikiru, because Watanabe is only able to live when he confronts his cancer head on.  When he lies in his bed at home and cries himself to sleep, when he goes with the writer to experience the decadence of modern Tokyo, he is, in effect, trying to ‘shut his eyes’ to the cancer and ignore its existence.  Only when he faces it head on, does he realize that he has the power to give his limited life meaning.  There are many other events in Kurosawa’s life that have relevance to Ikiru, because it is a film about life itself and the search for meaning in life.  Kurosawa’s past offers insight into not only why the author chose to write about this subject, but also why he comes to the conclusions that he does.

Anderson and Richie separate the book into two parts; the first focusing on the “background” of Japanese Film, such as the development of editing techniques, camera angles and techniques, and sound.  The latter part focuses on the “foreground,” which is made up of the directors, techniques and actors that gave Japanese Cinema its international (and national) identity.  The book first mentions Ikiru, which it calls Living  after its English translation, in the chapter on the development of atmosphere in Japanese cinema from 1949-1954 (Chapter 10) .  The authors give a brief synopsis of the film and mentions that “the Quarterly of Film, Radio, and Television […] called [Ikiru] “one of the greatest films of our time.””   Ikiru is described as an example of Kurosawa’s humanist cinema,  which is encapsulated by its mood and atmosphere.  The authors actually do criticize the film, which the other authors I read did not do, saying, “The film’s fault is perhaps that Kurosawa’s genius flows unchecked and that sometimes he carries things too far.”   This quote underlines the strategy taken by Anderson and Richie in their analysis of Kurosawa’s films (as well as the films of other Japanese directors).  Instead of delving deeply into the meaning of various shots and sequences in films, the films are analyzed more in terms of the authors’ views.  Films are listed in relation to the given topic of the chapter, but not much space is given to actually explaining, for example, what in the film creates the atmosphere.  A few interesting facts about Ikiru, learned from the book, is that Watanabe was Takashi Shimura’s only lead role in a Kurosawa film  and that the film was the first film that Kurosawa edited solely by himself.
While the book doesn’t have as much relevant information to Ikiru as other books I read, it does present some new information concerning the film in its own right, not on its aesthetic principles or themes.  The book is able to ground the film in relation to other Japanese films of its time, which no other book does, which is valuable in a complete understanding of the film beyond its importance as an Akira Kurosawa film.

Goodwin’s analysis of Ikiru centers on the film’s use of “codes.”  He defines “codes” as “structures that, through their coherence, make a text perceptible and comprehensible to its audience.”   What Goodwin means by this is that Kurosawa uses camera angles, blocking, objects and other cinematic techniques to make arguments in his film and express the themes to the audience.  Goodwin takes specific scenes in the film and analyzes what they convey to the audience.  One example of this is the scene at the end of the film, where Kimura sits down after being reprimanded by the new Section Chief; Goodwin states, “The brief rise and fall of his movement is the film’s final iteration of the visual figure of ascent and descent,”  which he argues is a recurring theme throughout the film.  Goodwin also demonstrates Kurosawa’s use of objects and actions as metaphors, for instance, when Watanabe grabs his chest in response to the writer’s query of whether his stomach hurts, Goodwin sees this as, “an image of emotional and spiritual pain at the heart of humanity.”   Watanabe doesn’t grab his stomach, because the real pain he is feeling is in his heart.  Another object, which has allegorical value in the film, is Watanabe’s hat, which “has become a sign of [Watanabe’s] quest for a new approach to life.”
    Goodwin also shows how Kurosawa uses editing techniques and objects as narrative devices: “the photograph of [Watanabe’s] wife at the center of the altar is the psychological frame through which Watanabe begins to look into his past in narrative flashback.”   In the flashback in which Watanabe and his son are follow his dead wife’s hearse, Goodwin states that, “Metaphorically, the sequence places death as an immediate prospect within life and it suggests the narrative’s own patterns of approach and withdrawal from its protagonist’s death.”   Both of these are examples of scenes and objects that offer a self-reflexive view of the film that acknowledges the techniques of filmmaking.
    Goodwin’s book is different from the other works in the Bibliography, because it analyzes specific images and scenes in Ikiru, searching for allegorical meaning and self-reflexive commentary.  The book definitely takes the position of Kurosawa as an auteur, suggesting that Kurosawa purposefully creates a continuity among the symbols and images in the film, in order give a deeper meaning to the film.

Russell talks about Kurosawa’s entire career and also focuses on his two most oft-used actors, Toshiro Mifune and Takashi Shimura, who plays Watanabe in Ikiru.  Russell acknowledges Ikiru as “one of Kurosawa’s finest films,”  but compares it to other Kurosawa films in her analysis.  She writes, “This is a director who was not afraid to use fast motion, slow motion, or extreme high or low angles.  He turns off the soundtrack altogether for a moment in Ikiru, and in High and Low throws a dash of color into a black-and-white film.”   Instead of doing an in-depth analysis of Ikiru, Russell talks about the film in relation to stages in Kurosawa’s career and the career of Takashi Shimura, saying of Shimura, “his starring role in Ikiru is perhaps the most memorable.”   Russell relates the film to other Kurosawa films of around the same time and notes their similarities and differences, in narrative, structure, and themes.  Talking about the two-part structure of the films Seven Samurai and High and Low, Russell explains that, unlike Ikiru, the structure of these films is “exposition followed by action.”   Russell compares Ikiru to Rashomon, saying, “in Ikiru, as in Rashomon, the heroic action is retold by others, and performed in flashback.”
    Russell also shows the similarities in setting among various Kurosawa films.  She writes, “Ikiru is also an important film in Kurosawa’s cinema because it deals directly with the issue of urban development.”   Most of Kurosawa’s non-period films have an urban setting, but the city itself is integral to the plot of Ikiru, because Watanabe’s quest is against Tokyo itself, the stagnant bureaucracy, the icy social interactions, etc. and this is all embodied by the cesspool, which is a product of urban life.  Russell also notices that the “extreme weather conditions […] In city films, they soften the urban setting into a site of humanist compassion, exemplified by the final soft snowfall in Ikiru.”   The urban setting provides a good backdrop to the actions of Kurosawa’s gangster films (“gendai-geki” ), but it provides the impetus behind the action in Ikiru.  Russell’s article separates her discussion of Kurosawa into two parts, his movies about “men with suits” (of which Ikiru is one) and his movies about “men with swords,” which is ironic considering the two-part structure of Ikiru and many other Kurosawa’s other films.  Russell makes some interesting points that are not touched on by other authors, because, like Prince’s book,  she analyzes the film in comparison to other Kurosawa films.

Like Goodwin’s book, Yoshimoto looks for allegorical meaning in Ikiru.  He focuses on different things than Goodwin, asking questions about the narrator and images in the background, which escaped the attention of Goodwin (or they just didn’t relate to his argument).  The first question Yoshimoto raises about the film is the opening image, which provides the starting point for Yoshimoto’s analysis of impossibility and disorientation in Ikiru.  Yoshimoto writes, “the opening x-ray image of Watanabe’s stomach is an “impossible” image whose origin cannot be accounted for diegetically [sic].”   The author then proceeds to explain why the image is “impossible.”
    Yoshimoto follows this with a shot breakdown of the opening scene in Watanabe’s department and surmises from the shots used by Kurosawa that, “Watanabe is consistently denied the subject position of the look; instead he is placed in the position of the other’s look.”   This establishes a theme that Yoshimoto then expands on, the theme of Watanabe as a subject, which is a offshoot of the theme of self-reflexivity.  Another self-reflexive image Yoshimoto recognizes is in the silent scene in which Watanabe leaves the hospital.  “On the wall behind Watanabe are many identical posters, advertisements for “Morinaga Penicillin Ointment.”  The medical reference reminds us of the immediately preceding scene at the hospital, and the word “penicillin” also emphasizes the incurability of Watanabe’s disease.”   Kurosawa also allows for self-reflexivity in the ‘nightlife scenes,’ “Mirrors are sued to disorient our perception of scenes’ spatial unity.”   All of these examples highlight Kurosawa’s use of self-reflexivity in the film, which bring the viewers attention on the process of watching the movie.  Yoshimoto argues that Kurosawa is commenting on the film itself and the audience’s perception of events in the film.  The audience members thus becomes aware that they are watching a film, which succeeds in distancing them from the protagonist, Watanabe, and calling into question the images on the screen (i.e. the ‘stories’ told by the coworkers at the wake).  In relation to this last idea, Yoshimoto writes, “[Ikiru] demonstrates the problematic relation of narration and subjectivity.”
    The most interesting self-reflexive element in the film I found was the actual structure of the film.  Yoshimoto writes, “when the protagonist of Ikiru abruptly disappears about two-thirds of the way through, his death surprises us as something utterly shocking, even though it is totally expected,”  and this is because “We assume that biological death and closure of our lives somehow coincide with each other.  What surprises us is that this is hardly the case.”   Yoshimoto’s argument concerns self-reflexivity in Ikiru and how this aids the goals of the film.  The questions that the two-part structure forces the audience members to ask themselves are just one example of the various techniques Kurosawa employs to force the viewer to change with Watanabe; the movie itself becomes catharsis.

Article about how gang movies influence gang behavior.

Breaks the connection between movies and reality into different works and makes points about each one of them. These worlds include: Staged, Storied, Scene, Social, Lived, Personal, and Film. Addresses issues such as authenticity and perception and expression.

Primarily focuses on different kinds of heroes in our culture, such as from movies and sports. Discusses the cultural unconscious relating to movie-watching. Drives at the pop star as an icon - the imitation and glorification of characters.

Psychological account for how visual fiction affects viewers. Covers cognition, empathy, simulation, dreams, consciousness, and indentification. Also looks at different genres, such as melodramas, comedies, and thrillers to see how each affects people differently.

Describes the different ways people can become obsessed with the movie experience. Gives psychological reasons behind this fetishization of watching movies, including sexuality, indentification, and racism. Given this information, notes how powerful the cinema instrument can be.

A book about a relatively scientific study on the impact violence in movies has on society. Describes what exactly it feels like to experience a violent scene in a movie and how viewers relate to the characters. Then covers the topics of self-censorship and the morality question.

A book that first explores who the audience for violent films are, such as children. Then categorizes the different kinds of violence such as gunfire or explosions or murder. Eventually wraps up with why violence in movies appeals to people.

Introduces the psychoanalytic approach to cinema. Uses movie examples such as 'Psycho' and 'Casablanca' to explore how particular story elements appeal to audiences. Also looks at the psychology of the characters in these movies.

A report on research into the effects on young people of scenes of violence in films and television. Examines not only the impact that movie violence has, but also the psychological determinants behind it. Very scientifically presented.

San Antonio Express editorial calling for parents to monitor which movies their kids watch. Claims that violent movies, music, and video games lead to higher rates of aggressive behavior among children.

Article about a British survey that says violence on TV, movies, and video games has a major short-term effect on young children, boosting the risk of aggressive behavior or fear. Also points out that there are other factors to take into consideration, such as violence in the home and the age of the child.

This is my PennTags bibliography for my research project on how movies influence human behavior. It is for Peter Decherney's 'Media Theory' class (FILM 211) in the Fall 2005 semester.

New York Times article that discusses the influence movies have over people's behavior. Says that people have debated this link between entertainment and reality for a long time. Mentions not only influence over fads and fashions, but real social movements, as well.

Article covering media mogul's comments expressing concern over violence in movies. In particular, links this violence to bully behavior among children. Says the reason for this is the lack of consequences shown in violent movies.

Article in the TELEGRAM & GAZETTE (Massachusetts) magazine discussing the consequences of watching aggressive movies. The article takes the position that doing so leads to unsafe behavior, primarily because scenes in movies are unrealistic. Examples used are James Bond films and the movie 'Basic Instinct."

Google search results for 'movies and behavior".

lots of movie related links

Penntext link to article in University of Toronto Quarterly, full text available from EPSCOhost Academic Search Premier.

Here is a list of all article databases in Cinema Studies provided by the Penn Library.

This is the library's page for the basic Research Resources in Cinema Studies.

Annie Hall (1977), from director-actor-co-writer Woody Allen, is a quintessential masterpiece of priceless, witty and quotable one-liners within a matured, focused and thoughtful film. It is a bittersweet romantic comedy of modern contemporary love and urban relationships (a great successor to classic Hollywood films such as The Awful Truth (1937) and The Philadelphia Story (1940)), that explores the interaction of past and present, and the rise and fall of Allen's own challenging, ambivalent New York romance with his opposite - an equally-insecure, shy, flighty Midwestern WASP female (who blossoms out in a Pygmalion-like story).